


When I Wasn't Watching

by Darlingheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Multi, Slow Burn, like seriously slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darlingheart/pseuds/Darlingheart
Summary: Hermione’s marriage is over. So now she has to find out who she is when she’s not busy being Ron Weasley’s wife. She’s also got to deal with a Pureblood plot, a developing friendship with Draco Malfoy and working out what and who it is she really wants.*On hiatus*
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 17
Kudos: 57





	1. He Doesn't Want Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello - in these strange times I was searching for something new to occupy my mind and ended up down a Dramione black hole. I read, devoured, some amazing stories (seriously, there is hella talent out there) and then as I am won't to do decided to give it a go myself. And, uh, here we are... please excuse any canon or grammar errors they are all entirely my own. 
> 
> Fair warning: This is a Dramione story but I was team Ron/Hermione when I read the books so if you're looking for Ron bashing this is not the fic for you, that being said people grow and change and I can fully see them growing apart. So that's what I've written. But this is definitely a Hermione/Draco story... eventually. I wasn't kidding about the tags either, this is a long build slow burn. I know that fanfic is brilliant for suspending belief and having characters fall in love after a minute but this isn't that. It's also not a bash on that, I love those fics _(and there was only one bed!)_ but I like a bit of realism with my magic too.
> 
> Chapter title from [Daydreams](https://youtu.be/5Jm7tdhz37s) by Maisie Peters

Hermione Granger-Weasley wasn't easily surprised. It’s part of what makes her such a formidable witch, she thinks through every possibility, every scenario. Her innate magical ability and natural intelligence mean that by the time she’s encountered a problem she’s already discovered every possible outcome and worked out the most advantageous.

So when Ron, her husband of five years – partner of fifteen – told her he wants a divorce. Her first thought wasn't hurt or even anger (they come later) it’s surprise. And then surprise that she’s surprised.

They’d spent the weekend with Harry and Ginny, and she'd known Ron had not been his usual self, he was quieter with her. Less inclined to turn to her, to touch her even in passing. She had just assumed it was the usual madness of the Potter-Weasley household, three children under ten is a handful magical or not. 

And when they’d come home and she’d tentatively raised the issue of children, again. Ron’s reaction _‘Can we not right now love’_ hadn’t surprised her. It was the refrain of the last few years. She’d just smiled, kissed him on the cheek and gone to up to bed with a book. She was asleep by the time Ron came up, but that wasn’t unusual either and when they’d separated at the Floo this morning, he’d given her the usual kiss that had been a feature of the last fifteen-years worth of mornings.

Which is why when she comes home Monday night after an incredibly frustrating day dealing with inter-office politics at the Ministry instead of actually getting any work done, her first thought upon finding him sitting alone in the darkness of their Sussex kitchen is fear. 

“Ron is everyone ok? Harry? Ginny?”

Even fifteen years after the war, fear for her friends is never more than a breath away.

“They’re fine.” He said tiredly but sincerely, his back to her.

“Merlin Ronald you had me terrified for a moment,” Hermione sighed, shrugging off her travelling robe and hanging it by the door with a flick of her wand.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” She muttered before wordlessly turning on the lights. 

Hermione knows she’ll never be Molly Weasley – or Ginny for that matter – she’s not a natural home maker, her place is more likely in a library or potions lab, but she loves her kitchen. It’s safe and cosy, with a big range cooker dominating one side of the room and her favourite armchair next to it. It’s the perfect reading spot, the heart of the home and always warm.

Later it’s another thing she’s furious at Ron for – of all the places to tell her, why there.

With the lights on she can see that Ron is sitting at the kitchen table still in his travelling cloak starring at his clasped hands. 

“Ron? What is it?”

He’s pale, his freckles standing out like ink blots on a blank page. She goes to him but he flinches, just slightly, from her touch and she pauses.

“I-“ He sighed.

“Ron, you’re starting to scare me.”

Hermione doesn’t say that lightly, fear is something she’s mastered – something she had to master. The normal things, curses, dark magic, death don’t scare her the usual way, she’s prepared for those. No, it’s the unknown that has always terrified her.

“I’m not happy.” Ron croaked out eventually after a silence that feels like it stretched decades.

“Oh,” She narrowed her eyes at him, “You do look a bit peaky. Do you want me to brew a Pepper-up potion? I think we used the last of it after Seamus’ wedding.” 

Hermione starts to bustle about the kitchen heading over to her everyday potions cupboard.

“No, it’s not–” Ron started frustrated, “Will you sit down. Please?”

Hermione perched on the edge of her reading chair facing Ron at the table. She could have sat next to him around their large oak table, normally she would’ve but something in his tone stopped her. Ron has been her best friend most of her life and her partner for all of her adult life, she knows every modulation of his voice, every sigh, every wand twitch but this tone now she doesn’t recognise. Not in Ron the adult. It reminds her of the boy he once was.

“I’m not happy with us. Our marriage.” It bursts out of him like holding back has been taking physical effort. 

“What?” Hermione gasped, but he barrelled on as though he hasn’t heard her.

“Things with us haven’t been right for a while now. I kept waiting for them to go back, for us to go back but they don’t. I don’t feel like I’m supported by you, I don’t feel like we’re right for each other any more.”

The only reason Hermione knows she’s still breathing is because she can feel the physical effort it’s taking.

“We’ve been together for so long and I feel like it’s become habit not because it’s right. I look at Harry and Gin and they seem so happy, like they fit together but you and I we’re not like that. We’re such different people.”

The little laugh that comes up unbidden is the bitterest sound she’s ever heard and she sat through the trials of countless dark wizards.

“We’ve always been different people.”

“I know.”

“So what has changed now?” The surprise is starting to fade and Hermione, the brightest witch of her age, is already running the different theories in her mind.

“I don’t know.”

“Nonsense. I know you Ronald Weasley, a decision like this doesn’t come up over night. Yes, we’re different people, we’ve always been different people that is not news.” Hermione fought down the feeling of disbelief and shock and tried to keep her voice calm. 

“I’m not happy.” He sighed, his head in his hands.

“So you’ve said.”

The clicking of the non-magical clock fills the room and Hermione idly wonders if Molly’s clock is pointing to _Mortal Peril_ or _Lost_ for Ron right now, or if it’s more literal as magic tends to be.

The silence stretches again before Hermione realises it will be on her to break it. Ron’s courage has once again failed him.

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to be married?”

The silence lingers.

“To work on this? To speak to someone about us?”

He glances up sharply at that. The Weasley’s don’t believe in seeing people for issues of the mind, even if privately Hermione has thought, more than once, that the whole lot of them would benefit from it. 

Ron still doesn’t speak, just looks at her sadly.

Hermione asks the question she’s been dreading since he first said he wasn’t happy.

“Is there someone else?” 

The little colour in Ron's face drained as he replied, “No. Never I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You’ve been awfully secretive with your owl post lately. And any correspondence has gone straight to your office rather than here as is normal.”

“Oh right, so if I’m unhappy it means I’m a cheating bastard.” Ron snapped defensively, “Thanks a bunch.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Hermione shrugged, “But surely you can see it’s a valid question.” 

“There is no one else.” He gritted out.

She nodded.

“Do you want to work on our marriage or is it done?” She asked him, her voice calmer than she felt, her clenched fists nails biting into her palms the only indication that all is not well. 

“I don’t know. I think, I think I just need space.”

Hermione can feel her temper raging but she holds it in.

“Well I’ll be at the London flat while you work it out. I will not stay here with someone who doesn’t want to be with me.” She told him, standing and summoning her cloak. She has some essentials at the London place and doesn’t need anything urgently.

“We’ll speak tomorrow.” She said curtly before apparating out without a glance at him. She doesn’t trust herself to look at him right now.

Once in the flat she puts the wards up making sure no one, not even Ron, can enter without her permission. She sends an owl to Ginny saying that she’s staying in the London flat for work so if they need her she’ll be there. She makes sure the bed is made and that the heating is on – it is January after all. And then once she’s done everything she can think of, everything she can to delay the inevitable, but the tears don't come. Instead she sits dry-eyed on the sofa until day turns to night and long after.

  
They don't speak the next day. He doesn't get in touch and Hermione will be damned if she makes the first move. In the end Hermione makes it to Thursday before she gives in and gets in touch with Ron. Normally she wouldn’t be the first to back down, it’s not in her nature, but next Friday is the Ministry party for their New Year’s Honours List and as part of the so-called Golden Trio, and a formidable Ministry member in her own right she is expected to be there. With Ron.

She sends him an owl that they need to talk and that she’ll be expecting him at their flat later that evening. Then she sits pretending to go over the piles of paperwork that litter her desk but mostly staring into space wondering how on earth she got here.

It’s only when the charmed hourglass in the corner of her office starts spinning frantically that Hermione realises that not only has she been starring aimlessly at blurring words for the last twenty minutes but that she’s also meant to be at a meeting on the other side of the ministry in less than five minute.

She skids to a halt outside the Albus Dumbledore Meeting Room a minute late. She can feel her hair escaping the bun she usually wears it in at work and takes a moment to gather her papers together and calm her breathing. 

“Well well, the golden girl is late too.” An annoyingly familiar drawl remarked next to her.

Hermione sighed and turned to face the voice, “Malfoy.” She acknowledged coolly.

“Granger.” 

“It’s Granger-Weasley, as well you know.” She replied, it’s an old argument but today she doesn’t have it in her because what if it’s not anymore. 

Hermione gasped quietly and looked down, what if she is just plain old Granger again. She’s preoccupied and misses the narrow eyes and flash of something resembling intrigue that come from the blonde man next to her.

“Come on. If I walk in late with you they’ll be far more lenient,” Draco Malfoy smirked at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she pushed open the door, with Malfoy half a step behind her.

“So sorry I’m late,” Hermione smiled, stopping short as she takes in the room. This meeting was down in her notes as a inter-departmental communication meeting but based on the familiar faces in the room this is a senior level meeting. 

Behind her Malfoy – who if she’d been in her right mind Hermione would have known his being there was an anomaly – whistles low. “Quite the turnout for a meeting on magical memos between departments.”

Privately Hermione agrees with him. Ron and Harry are there on behalf of the Auror department. Oliver Wood – head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports – is sitting next to Ernie Macmillan, Malfoy’s boss, who heads up the Department of International Magical Cooperation. There’s the wizard from the Department of Magical Transportation whose name she can never remember but he has a faintly washed out look as though he’s taken too many trips and it has diminished him. She sees Indra Innes from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, as well as Persephone Prickle her old colleague from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. 

“This can’t all be because no one can agree on what colour memos to use.” Hermione whispered, as she sat down next to Harry.

“It’s not. Look, Zabini’s just walked in. That means the Department of Mysteries are involved too.” Harry whispered back.

Hermione thinks they all have aged for the better, after all not living in war tends to be better for the skin but Blaise has become more striking than he was at school. He’s grown into his once haughty features, and with his dark skin and bright eyes and immaculate black robes he looks more like he’s stepped out of the pages of Witch Weekly, than come up from the dungeons for a meeting. She’s not sure what he does in the Department of Mysteries – the clue being in the name – but she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d inherited his mother’s talent for appearance-led magic.

“Right, now we’re all here, I’ll start. Apologies for the cloak and dagger but you can never be too careful.” Ernie remarked pompously, and Hermione feels rather than hears Ron’s groan from two seats down. 

“I’ll get straight to the point, this isn’t about internal memos as you may have noticed. Though I’m sure we all agree that the current system is not ideal,” Ernie intoned.

“The point of the meeting Ernie? Some of us do have other places to be.” Harry interrupted gently.

“Oh yes, Merlin forbid we get in the way of Potter’s precious time.” Draco drawled. It’s not quite as barbed as it once would’ve been, fifteen years is a long time, but Harry and Malfoy will never be able to resist antagonising each other.

“Oh shut up Malfoy.” Ron snapped.

Hermione glances at him and can see that he’s looking pale and wan. Good, she thinks savagely. He doesn’t get to upend her life with no consequence. In the same thought she can’t help worrying about him though, he is still her husband after all.

“What’s going on Ernie?” asked Indra Innes.

“We have reason to believe,” Ernie began his eyes flitting briefly to Blaise, “that there is an international plan to destabilise the Ministry.”

Ernie waits for everyone to take in the news and then continues. “Our sources tell us that the US are looking to make an international move to control further territories and that we are on their hit list as it were.”

“Why?” asked Hermione.

“Excuse me?”

“Why do they want to destabilise the British Ministry. Since the last war, we’ve been barely a player on the international stage. We have the history and tradition of course, but our international presence is pretty limited unless you count Zabini and Malfoy flirting across continents.” 

“Ah Granger, I didn’t know you cared.” Blaise smiled at her charmingly, she rolled her eyes at him ignoring Malfoy’s smirk.

“Hermione is right” Harry agreed, “We are less important now than we were ten years ago, but even ten years ago the Americans were on our side. What’s changed and what does that have to do with every department here?”

“The Minister feels that the information is sufficient enough to warrant concern.” Ernie sniffed pompously.

“The only reason for every department to be notified is if the Minister feels this is a war-level threat.” Hermione replied.

She turned to Indra and Persephone who were too young to participate in the last war. “One of the ways that Voldemort’s followers were able to succeed so fast in the second war is that everyone kept their information sequestered for fear of leaks and misinformation. It meant that they were able to control the Ministry due to some well-places curses and a lack of clarity. It was decided once the war was over that going forward if the current Minister ever felt there was threat of war again, all department heads would be notified from the off. It’s called the Colloquium Order and is magically binding. It would have been one of the things you signed when you took your positions.”

“Oh do stop glaring Weasley, I’ve done my time if you remember.” Draco sneered at Ron when Hermione had finished speaking.

She looked over at Ron again to see that he was in fact glaring at Malfoy. Malfoy sat calmly, a small smile playing around his mouth. Like the rest of them he'd aged well, very well if cafeteria gossip and Witch Weekly were to be believed. His once pointed features were still sharp but where they once looked hard and brittle it now gave him a handsome elegance, the wit and quick intellect were mostly used to amuse not wound these days with just enough edge to keep it interesting. After all, as Fleur had once said, good looks without an edge is just a charming façade. 

“I’m quite the reformed character these days, ask your wife if you don’t believe me.” Draco paused, “She vouched for me after all.”

It was one of the biggest fights she and Ron had ever had, the only time they came close to breaking up previously. Hermione had gone on record to argue that everyone, including Malfoy, deserved a second chance if they had shown proper remorse. Hermione isn’t sure if Malfoy knew for certain or just guessed that she and Ron had been on opposing sides on this issue, but he had spent every moment of their professional lives needling Ron about it when he had the chance.

“So, I assume there’s protocol in place?” Oliver Wood spoke up, “We’re meant to be playing the Yanks in a Quidditch friendly next month, I’d prefer to know in advance if my players are going to be hexed.”

“Only so he can devise strategies for the National Squad to avoid the hexes, not to call off the game.” Harry muttered under his breath. He’d never quite forgotten Oliver’s zealous desire to win.

“Currently this is at senior level only. We want people on the look out in their departments for anything that doesn’t feel right.”

“Other than the Minister no one outside this room is aware of any threat, we’d like to keep it that way.” Blaise said softly, in his way of making everyone strain to listen. “You all know your teams, you know what normal looks like within it. Look for anything that isn’t that.”

“We’re Aurors. Everything we do is unusual,” Harry pointed out.

“Use your brain Potter, it’s alleged you have one.” Blaise replied curtly, “If you suddenly get called to a high volume of calls in Grosvenor Square or Holland Park, be aware.”

“High concentration of American wizarding families.” Malfoy supplied for the blank faces around the room.

“That’s all. I don’t think I have to remind you that this is all highly classified, but just in case.” Ernie said nodding toward the glowing red light around the door. The latest version of the impenetrable secrecy charm Hermione had been consulting on.

Everyone nodded and began to leave. Hermione felt Ron’s hand grab her wrist and she paused to let the room clear. When everyone had gone she turned to face him, the man she married, the man she’d loved.

“How are you?” He asked.

“Busy.” She snapped, exhausted suddenly.

“Look, I can’t come tonight, I swapped assignments to be on night shift this week.”

“Right.”

“I know we need to talk.” 

Hermione said nothing.

“This weekend?”

“Sure.” She nodded, “I’ll come back to Sussex on Saturday.”

Ron shrugged lightly, “So this is all a bit nuts isn’t it,” he began, trying for casual, friendly.

“Don’t Ron. Just don’t.” Hermione sighed as she turned her back on him and walked out of the room.

  
A few corridors down Malfoy was walking with Blaise towards his office.

“Sufficient do you think?” He asked quietly.

Blaise nodded, “it’s the best we can do for now.”

“It won’t take them long to work out the Americans are just a cover. Particularly Granger or Potter, you know how meddlesome they can be.” Draco pointed out.

“I know but we don’t need long, just until after the Ball.”

“I still think we should’ve been honest from the beginning.” 

“I know and it’s as shocking now as it is when you first said it. Malfoy’s and honesty don’t exactly go hand in hand.” Draco glared at him but Blaise continued nonplussed, “But you know as well as I do that if we went to them without proof, they won’t believe us. Times may have changed but not that much."

Draco nodded unconvinced but willing for now.

“Always a pleasure Zabini.” He drawled raising his voice to a normal level, “now sod off.”

Blaise laughed and turned with a wave over his shoulder, looking for anyone who might be watching that nothing was out of the ordinary.

Malfoy opened his door and sighed when he saw the many memos flying around his office. Just another day in the Ministry.

  
The rest of Hermione’s week seemed to move at a glacial pace. No one in her office could tell that anything was wrong – she was a master at concealing difficulties. Being best friends with Harry and Ron during the war had taught her that. No, on the surface she was perfect yet inside she felt upside down. She’d look up from her parchment and realise that she’d been writing for hours but didn’t remember a word of it. She’d apparate back to her flat and lie there not sleeping, staring up at the ceiling until the light changed and she’d have to get up for work again. In the end she resorted to a dreamless sleep potion just so she didn’t look quite so exhausted. 

It was the uncertainty that was destroying her. Hermione was a lot of things but uncertain wasn’t one of them. Once she made up her mind that was it. And she’d made up her mind to love and marry Ron until death do them part, but now it seemed that wasn’t enough. She’d gone through every solution, every option in her mind but it all seemed to come back to him. What he wanted.

By Friday evening she was dreading the next day but also willing it to come faster, she wanted a decision. Clarity. 

She was so distracted by what was coming next that as she left her office, shouting a quick goodbye to her smart but inexperienced assistant, a witch called Venetia Scott, that she failed to pay any attention to where she was going and walked straight into Malfoy and Zabini.

“Try to watch where you’re going,” drawled Blaise lazily, as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders and she was merely another irritant.

She’d bumped into them with such force that if it wasn’t for Malfoy’s hands grabbing her upper arms Hermione would probably be flat on the floor. 

He dropped his hands instantly, as surprised as she was to see he’d caught her. Quidditch reactions she thought absently, while jostling her bag back onto her shoulder and straightening her robes.

“Honestly Granger, I thought people were meant to grow out of their clumsy stages,” Malfoy taunted, “You can’t even blame that preposterous hair of yours since it’s miraculously tied up.”

“Oh get stuffed.” Hermione snapped irritably.

“Such charm this one.” Blaise quipped, looking at Malfoy who grinned back.

“What are you even doing out of your dungeon Zabini,” Hermione snipped waspishly, “And you." She whirled to face Malfoy, "You’re not meant to be in this department unless requested.”

“I was requested,” Malfoy replied with a charming, if entirely fake, smile.

“Oh hi, I thought I heard voices. Hi Blaise, Draco,” Venetia smiled coyly putting her head out of the office door.

“Are you ready? The reservation is at seven.” Malfoy grinned at her with a genuinely charming smile this time ignoring the look of disbelief on Hermione’s face.

“Oh no, no no no.” Hermione shook her head looking from Venetia to Malfoy. “You are not dating anyone on my team.”

“It’s not-” Venetia started but Malfoy cut her off.

“Who died and made you Supreme Mugwump.” 

“I’m serious Malfoy. Just because you want to shag any pretty thing that moves,” Hermione began. “No offence” She offered quickly to Venetia, glancing back over her shoulder at the young witch.

“Some taken.” Venetia muttered.

Blaise who is leant against a wall with his arms folded snorted at this response earning himself a glare from Hermione and a roll of the eyes from Malfoy. 

“That does not give you licence to shag my assistant. That’s a bloody nightmare waiting to happen.” Hermione continued.

“Granger, out of Ministry hours what I do and who I do it with is none of your business.” Malfoy replied coolly, “May I remind you you are not yet Minister for Magic.”

He nodded at Venetia and started to walk away. Venetia paused throwing an almost apologetic look at Hermione but ultimately followed Malfoy down the long corridor.

Blaise pushed himself up off the wall and smoothed down his robes, “I’d say always a pleasure but…” he trailed off with a smirk.

Hermione huffed grumpily in response.

Blaise winked at her and walked away after Draco and Venetia. Hermione’s fingers twitched towards her wand, she was still one of the most respected members of the Wizarding community surely it would be worth loosing some of that respect to hex the smug smiles off Malfoy and Zabini’s faces.

She didn't of course. She wasn’t the impulsive teenager who’d once smacked Malfoy across the cheek, sadly. Instead she seals her office and walks to the atrium trying to work out what on earth Malfoy would want with her assistant. Sure she was pretty, in that pale English rose way but she was a muggleborn, which was not his usual style. 

She was so distracted that it was only as she stepped into the Floo to take her back to the flat that she realised she hadn’t thought about Ron or her failing marriage for at least 30 minutes. Practically a record this week.

  
“Oh Merlin, she’s definitely going to fire me,” worried Venetia, as she followed Draco and Malfoy into Salazaar’s the underground restaurant they’re having dinner in.

“For the last time, she won’t fire you.” Draco sighed, looking around to see if he can see the rest of their party.

“I mean, she could.” Blaise added wickedly. At Venetia’s horrified glance he adds, “But she probably won’t. She doesn’t care who you’re fucking as long as it’s not our boy Draco.”

“Is it a jealously thing? But she’s married right?”

Blaise is still laughing by the time they take their table. Sliding in the booth next to their schoolmates Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott.

“What’s with you? Did you swallow some Laughing Potion on the way here?” Pansy asked, frowning at the grinning Blaise.

“No no. We bumped into Granger-Weasley on our way out of the office and she thought that Draco and Venetia were shagging.” Blaise explained once his chuckles had subsided.

“What? Why?”

“Why does she think anything? I don’t know.” Draco answered in a bored tone, looking out for a waitress to take their order.

“Well he didn’t exactly deny it and Granger-Weasley lost her shit. Told him he was not allowed to shag her staff.”

“That sounds fair, you do have a bit of a reputation,” remarked Theo absently.

“Hey!” Draco complained indignantly and glared at his friend, “Cauldron Kettle.” Theo shrugged.

“You do darling, and it’s quite well deserved.” Pansy told Draco patting him soothingly on the arm.

"Though, it would be pretty poor form to shag my girlfriend," Theo added with a cheeky smile, Draco glared at him again.

“Anyway, as we were coming in our little Venetia here implied that the reason Granger-Weasley was annoyed might be because she’s jealous.” Blaise finished with a flourish.

He waits for the sentence to land, and watches as Pansy and Theo start to laugh.

“Now you see why I was laughing.”

“Oh fuck off all of you, I’m a bloody catch,” Malfoy smirked.

“Yes, just not with her. Jealous," Pansy laughed, smiling at the young girl, "Oh V, that will amuse me for weeks."

“I don’t get why it’s so funny.” Venetia pouted.

“I’ll explain later darling, don’t worry.” Theo soothed, tucking her under his arm, “It’s a long story.”  
  
“If this is another, _‘in the good old bad days’_ tale, spare me. I’ll live without knowing,” Venetia sighed wondering quite why her mother encouraged the match to Theo and if any inheritance is really worth always being treated like a child.

  
Hermione and Ron hadn’t agreed a time for her to come over on Saturday but it was her house and she would go there whenever she damn well pleased. 

She apparated in mid-morning vaguely concerned of what she might find, but the house was still. She dropped her bag by the door and noted absently that Ron’s running gear was gone. She slowly walked through the house, the house that had been a sanctuary for them but now feels empty. Whatever happened next this house didn’t feel as safe as it once had. 

Hermione was making a cup of tea the muggle way – waiting for the kettle to boil before warming the pot and pouring hot water onto the leaves – when the back door opened.

“‘Mione. I wasn’t sure when you’d be here.” Ron said softly.

“No time like the present.” She shrugged.

“I’ll just go and –” He gestured to his sweaty running gear and headed for the bathroom upstairs. 

Hermione waited until she heard the shower turn on before taking a deep steadying breath. He was still Ron. Her best friend. Her first love. The bright red hair that was so him hadn’t faded and nor had how she felt, but was that enough, she wondered.

She put the tea pot on the table and summoned the mugs. Her favourite bone china mug and Ron’s huge snitch mug, made by Ginny and painted by James. It was an ugly thing, but he loved it more because it had been made by their nephew.

By the time Ron came back down, in muggle jeans and a Weasley jumper his hair still wet from the shower, the tea was ready, sitting in his mug with a warming charm just as he liked it.

“This is perfect, thanks.”

“Of course.”

“How have you been?” Ron asked cautiously.

Hermione shrugged, “you know.”

He nods awkwardly looking down at the table. Hermione couldn’t miss the rush of colour on the tips of his ears, she felt like she was practically trained to look for it.

“Did the space help?” She asked eventually. Anything to break the silence that had settled in the room.

“Kinda.”

Hermione could feel her frustration building, how dare he sit and offer one word answers when he was the reason they were in this mess.

“Kinda? You’ll have to do better than that.”

“What do you want me to say?!” Ron burst. “I don’t know.”

“Well that’s not good enough.”

“We’re not the same anymore Hermione, surely you have to see that. I still love you, you’re my best friend, but the spark, the fire, it’s gone.” He practically shouted, the frustration and pain evident in his voice.

At her silence he added softly, “Surely you can see that.”

Hermione nodded once before she spoke, she was prepared for this. 

“Right, well the way I see it is we have two options. One – we can work on it, we can start date nights again get to know the us we are now and get the spark back. Maybe even take some time apart.” She tried, her voice soft, hopeful.

“And the other option?”

“We, uh, we,” Hermione took a deep breath, “We split up.”

“I don’t think living apart would help.” Ron sighed after a beat.

“OK.” Hermione replied cautiously.

“And I’m uhh, I’m not sure that we can get it back you know? It feels like we’ve gone too far past who we were.”

Ron isn’t looking at her, he’s staring at his snitch mug with a fierceness that she hadn’t seen in a long time. His skin was pale and his knuckles were white where he was clutching at the mug.

Hermione knew. She’d known since Ron had said he wasn’t happy if she was honest with herself, he wasn’t one to cause a fuss unless it was all he felt he had left.

“That leaves one other option then.” She pointed out quietly.

Ron looked up at her and nodded sadly. The bright blue eyes she could recognise in the dark meet hers and blur in front of her as her eyes fill with tears.

“You have to say it Ronald, I won’t make this decision for you.” She whispered, amazed that even though it’s quiet her voice is calm and even.

“I think we should separate,” croaked Ron.

The bone china cup in Hermione’s hands shattered spilling tea and shards of china over her hands and across the table.

“Reparo.” She said mindlessly, as Ron fussed around her.

“Are you ok? Are your hands hurt?”

“My hands are fine Ron.” Hermione snapped, “The rest of my life not so much but my hands are fucking fine.”

Ron paused, the cloth in his hands hanging limply where he was trying to mop up the tea and look after her hands.

Hermione didn’t swear if she could help it. She thought it was uncouth and showed a lack of intelligence in ones vocabulary. So when she did, it was serious. It meant something.

“Sit down Ron.” She sighed tiredly.

He did, sitting opposite her at the table. The large family table she’d once thought would be used by their bright-eyed lively children.

“We need a plan.”

“Of course we do.” He smiled, as though sharing a joke.

Hermione continued without hearing him. “I’d like to tell Harry, but your family is up to you. I don’t want to have your mother wailing and trying to make me change my mind as though it’s all on me.”

Ron blanched but nodded as she continued.

“We should go together to the Ball next week. It’s one evening and all we have to do is smile for the photographs and mingle a little. We can tell our people before if you wish so that they can run interference but it’s important that we’re there together. Not only for appearances of the Trio,” She added a heavy dose of sarcasm to the word trio, “but also given the meeting earlier in the week it won’t do to have any fractures in place at the Ministry.”

“That makes sense. I think we should tell family. It will make it easier.” He replied, “Plus mum or Ginny is probably going to curse the bollocks off me, so I might not even need to go.”

Hermione managed a weak smile at that.

“I’ll stay in the flat and you can stay here and after the Ball we can reevaluate.” She declared.

Hermione stood up to leave but Ron, moving with the speed of his much younger self, was around the table holding her tightly in his arms his hand nestled under her hair where it had been so often, before she knew what was happening. The small sob that rises in her throat comes out unbidden and Ron pulled her in tighter. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into her hair as they hold each other tightly, “I do love you you know.”

Hermione held him tightly before pulling back, “I know. But it’s not enough is it.” 

Slowly she rose up to kiss him on the cheek before stepping out of his arms. 

She inhaled a shaky but deep breath, visualised the flat in her mind and apparated away from her home, away from Ron. Hermione fell to the floor of the flat with a loud crack, the type of sound and uncoordinated landing she hadn’t made since she first learnt to apparate. She wordlessly put up the barriers on her home and then curled into a ball and cried all the tears that she hadn't been able to shed before.


	2. Young People Fall In Love With The Wrong People Sometimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read so far, there's quite a bit of R/Hr stuff here at first – marriages don't just end with no discussion after all – but our favourite handsome sarky blonde is around, and there'll be much more D/Hr from now on.
> 
> Chapter title from [Moral of the Story](https://youtu.be/WQq98YPV8yk) by Ashe

Ron had hoped by not giving his family much notice he wouldn’t have to face all of them at once. He was aware it was cowardly but he was hardly certain of what was going on in his own mind, let alone ready to explain it to the wider Weasley clan. But he had to. He knew that much. 

So bright and early Sunday morning – it’s not like he’d been sleeping anyway – he cast the family alert charm. It was a method Hermione had come up with after the war. A way of getting in touch with everyone at once but without worrying them.

It worked similarly to his mother’s clock. Each member of the family had a hand and you could charm them to request a meeting at a certain time. If it was green, it was at their convenience. Red meant danger. And amber was important but not life-threatening. Ron went with amber and pressed the hands of his family, tapping 11am Burrow.

He’d really hoped giving them only a few hours notice would be enough of a deterrent but every hand replied affirmatively.

Ron decided to get there a bit after 11 am, give everyone else time to arrive first and then he could just tell them and leave. But the best laid plans of wizards and witches never quite went so smoothly.

At ten past eleven he was sitting in the sitting room of the Burrow, surrounded by anxious family members waiting for Charlie.

“Honestly, this is ridiculous my nerves can’t take this.”

“Mum, Ron said everyone is fine. So everyone must be fine. Right.” Ginny questioned her blue eyes flashing fiercely.

“Yep everyone is healthy.” Ron confirmed evasively, “Look, Charlie said he’d be here so lets give him five minutes. I really don’t want to have to go through this more than once.”

“I’ll make some more tea,” Molly Weasley declared going into the kitchen. “That’s the best plan.”

“I’ll help mum.” Percy said following after her.

Ron glanced over at Bill and Ginny sitting tightly together their heads bent in a whisper. He didn’t really want to know what they’re talking about but feared he might be the subject.

“Ron?” George asked, coming over to sit next to him, “you’re not in danger are you? Or any kind of real trouble.” 

Since Fred’s death George and Ron were closer and he appreciated his older brother more than he can say right now.

“Not really. Although ask me again in ten minutes.” Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair.

The back door flew open and a harried Charlie Weasley walked in with one arm heavily bandaged. Ron heard him in the kitchen, “Oh don’t fuss mum, I’m fine. Just a minor misunderstanding with a Welsh Green. All good.”

“So Ronald, what’s with all the drama?” grinned Charlie striding into the sitting room.

All night while Ron hadn’t been able to sleep he’d planned the best way to tell his family. To explain how unhappy he was. To make them see, slowly and gently, that things weren’t right between him and Hermione. That he still loves her but not in the same way anymore. To make them understand that this is the right thing for both of them. The brave thing. But looking up at them all his courage faltered and he realised that the only way is to say it quickly and plainly. 

Summoning all of his Gryffindor courage he said definitively, “Hermione and I are splitting up.” 

Then he waited. The room was silent, even the ghoul in the attic seemed to recognise the severity of the moment. Ron started to count in his head and got to three before a wall of sound erupted around him. Even though everyone was speaking at once he somehow takes them all in individually, as if he’s removed from it all. 

“Oh my darling boy.” That would be mum.

“What the fuck mate?” 

“Charlie – language!” Arthur scolded, before he added softly, “But Ron, really?”

“Are you alright?” That’s George.

“What did you do?” From Ginny, who appeared to be searching for her wand.

“I know a good man in the Marriage department, your assets should be pretty simple since there are no children.” Ron heard Percy say.

“Slow down Perce.” Charlie replied.

Ron had hoped he’d be able to tell them and go. Let them work it out for themselves, but as he sat listening to the ripples around the room he realised it wouldn’t be that simple. Hermione had been in their life for more than twenty-years, long before she became his partner and wife. There’s no simple solution here.

“Everyone calm down.” Bill’s voice cut through Ron’s thoughts.

As everyone quietened down, Bill looked at Ron and prompted softly, “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on.” 

Hermione spent all of Saturday alternating between tears and telling herself to stop crying and pull it together. By Sunday she felt like she had fought the war all over again. But as much as she wanted to she couldn’t hide away forever, life went on, she of all people knew that. 

So while she didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to make it real, Hermione knew that wasn’t an option.

She sent an owl to Harry asking if he fancied lunch in muggle London and he replied almost instantly, saying he was looking forward to it. 

Hermione stood under the spray of the shower and willed herself to cry her last tears, Harry had never been very good with crying women and she didn’t want to spook him before they’d even had a drink. 

Not usually one for make up unless the occasion demanded it Hermione cast a cry-away spell on her eyes to hide the puffiness and redness and put some mascara on. Anything to look like the presentable witch she was meant to be.

In her ankle-length tea dress over black tights and Chelsea boots, with her wand safely stowed in the specially created pocket of her wool coat, Hermione looked every inch the muggle. She apparated to the hidden spot by Hampstead Heath and then walked to The Holly Bush to meet Harry. 

The Holly Bush was a muggle pub that felt magical. They’d found it the year after the war when being in wizarding London felt too overwhelming for them all, but being anywhere too obviously Muggle felt like being out in the open. The Holly Bush with its dark wood panelling and low ceilings, hidden rooms and wood fires felt like the best of both worlds, a place where they could be comfortable but anonymous. 

Harry is already there when she arrives. He’s sat at their usual table in the corner by the fire, a pint in front of him as he looks at the menu. 

“Hello.” 

“Hermione, hi.” He grinned, standing up to give her a hug. “I wasn’t sure what you were drinking,” he trailed off and searched her face. Luckily Harry had always been a terrible occlumens.

“Don’t worry. I’ll go up to the bar. You good?”

He nodded at his pint and sat back down. Despite being a busy Sunday Hermione was served incredibly quickly and was back at their table with her glass of red wine faster than she had expected. Faster than she’d hoped really, because although she’d been planning her words all morning she was now at a loss.

Luckily Harry had grown into quite an astute young man.

“Does this have anything to do with the Weasley family meeting at the Burrow that Gin was summoned to?” He asked once the obligatory small talk was out of the way.

Hermione nodded.

“I’d ask if you were pregnant, but…” he looked pointedly at the glass of red she was clasping the stem of.

“You shouldn’t ask a woman if she’s pregnant anyway Harry James Potter,” Hermione hissed, “As well you know.”

For all the differences between the wizarding world and the muggle world, the implication that it was fine to ask a woman over thirty about her reproductive habits was irritatingly similar. Something Hermione was trying to put a stop to at every turn.

“I know, I know…” He started, holding up his hands.

“Ron and I are splitting up.” Hermione blurted.

“What!” 

Several people turned around to look at them and although Hermione was sure they were all muggles and therefore wouldn’t care further than some low-key drama at their favourite pub she slyly, and wandlessly, cast a muffliato charm just incase.

Hermione took a shaky breathe, “He hasn’t been happy for a long time apparently and although I offered to work on it, he’s done. So we’re done. He’s at the Burrow telling the family now.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. You’re Ron and Hermione, you’re solid.” Harry replied incredulously.

“Apparently not.” Hermione shrugged, not bothering to hide the bitterness in her tone.

“I know he’s been a bit all over the place recently but I just thought it was this new case. And I mean, Christmas was a bit strained but…”

Hermione tuned him out. Listening to Harry list all the reasons that this shouldn’t be happening was no easier than when she’d thought of them herself.

“Are you ok?” He asked eventually, placing a hand on hers and looking up at her with those bright green eyes.

“No,” Hermione admitted softly, “but I will be.”

“Of course you will.” Harry said firmly, “You’re Hermione-fucking-Granger. Order of Merlin First Class. Brightest Witch of her age. And the best friend anyone could have.”

Hermione felt the tears well up again – how could she still have more to cry – but they didn’t fall.

“We’re not announcing it publicly until after the Ball.” Hermione told him, “It’s easier that way. And then who knows.” She shrugged aiming for a casualness that Harry instantly saw through.

“Whatever you need from me and Gin, you have it. You know that right?” Harry said fiercely. 

Hermione nodded not sure her voice was strong enough to respond.

“I mean it Hermione. He might be my best friend, but you are my sister.”

“Oh Harry.” She answered, her voice watery, clutching his hand.

  
By the time Hermione was back in her flat she didn't feel better – no, better feels a million miles away still – but she felt a little more like herself. Talking to Harry had helped. His shock had helped. After all if Harry, their best friend in the world, didn’t see it coming, then maybe she hadn’t been a blind fool.

Hermione opened a nice bottle of red wine and settled down on the sofa with her case files that she’d been neglecting for the past week. This was going to be the new normal and she had to get used it to.

She was reading about the latest improper use of magic cases when Ginny’s head appeared in the fireplace in front of her.

“Oi, take the bloody wards off!” Ginny spluttered thought the ash.

“How are you in my fireplace?”

“Harry’s your emergency contact. I’m his wife and a Weasley, it lets me breach the minor wards. Though I still can’t actually get in.” Ginny explained petulantly, her head flickering in the grate.

“Well that is quite an oversight.” Hermione muttered to herself.

“Hermione, I will have this conversation with you while my head is in the fire but I would prefer to actually stand. You know I bloody hate talking like this.”

Hermione huffed but reached for her wand and loosened the wards on her flat to allow Ginny to enter properly.

As Ginny clambered out of the fireplace, Hermione retreated in the kitchen coming back with a glass before pouring some wine for Ginny. The smaller woman took the wine, placed it lightly on the side and then pulled Hermione into a huge hug that belied her size.

“He’s a prat and I’ve told him as much.” Ginny said fiercely holding on to Hermione.

Ginny gave Hermione another squeeze before she pulled back to look at her.

“I’m not going to ask you if you’re OK, because I know you’ll lie to me and tell me you are.”

Hermione cleared the files from the sofa and they sat together.

“I’m going to tell you what I told my brother. We will not take sides we love you both.” Ginny paused, “but you are family Hermione just as much as he is.”

The fears that Hermione had been trying to push to the back of her mind all come tumbling forward as she sat across from Ginny. 

“But I’m not though. He’s your brother and Harry’s best friend. He’s uncle to the kids and what am I. Just the witch he married and now doesn’t want.” Hermione cried softly, the words falling out unbidden.

“You are family.” Ginny repeated fiercely, reaching for Hermione’s hands, “You are James’ godmother and that won’t change. All of those children adore you. Lily calls you ‘my ‘mione’ for Godric’s sake. Even if you and Ron aren’t together that doesn’t change who you are to us. You’re Harry’s family Hermione.”

Hermione sniffled.

“And while we might not be related by blood, you’re family to me too. Not just to me. I had to promise Dad that I would tell you he would still like to do your Thursday lunch club if you want to. George told me to give you an extra big hug and said he’d been trying a new laughter potion if you were feeling a bit blue. And apparently Fleur is already annoying Bill with suggestions of eligible French wizards you might be interested in.”

Hermione laughed weakly.

“I’m serious. You, Hermione Granger, are a bloody catch. And just because my idiot brother is an idiot, it doesn’t mean you’re not still ours.” Ginny said, her eyes glistening with fierce unshed tears, “You are part of our family, not just mine and Harry’s but all of us, for as long as you want us. No matter what.” Ginny’s speech ended with her launching herself across the sofa to pull Hermione into a strong hug, both of them pulling back with suspiciously wet cheeks.

Hermione and Ginny had talked long into the night. Not about Ron specifically but about life and marriage, relationships and who they were now. And Hermione felt better for it. After hugging Ginny goodbye, with a promise to make her wards less strict so at least Ginny could come and visit, Hermione had actually managed to sleep.

Which was good because the week before the New Years’ Honours Ball was always a busy one, with every department wanting something from the DMLE. She had quite forgotten about Venetia and Malfoy until she arrived at her office on Monday morning and saw the young witch sitting nervously at her desk.

“My office, ten minutes.” She told her and closed her office door behind her.

After ten minutes exactly Venetia knocked timidly and Hermione called her in.

“Oh breathe, you’re not in trouble.” Hermione told the young witch as she called her into the room.

“I’m not?”

“No of course not. I overstepped on Friday, I had other things on my mind.”

She saw Venetia relax slightly.

“Do you like working in this department?” Hermione asked, motioning for Venetia to sit down.

“Oh yes, it’s great.”

“Right in that case you should be aware that for reasons outside of my control Mister Malfoy is not allowed to come to this office without being specifically requested. And as this is a work place, going forward I would urge you to keep your private life outside of these walls.”

“We’re not together.” Venetia said quickly, “Me and Draco I mean.”

Hermione raised one eyebrow silently and waited for Venetia to fill the silence. It’s an old trick she learnt from Professor McGonagall and she had to admit it never fails.

“I’m kinda dating his friend. Plus his mother vaguely knows my mother and she asked him to keep an eye on me here.”

“Not Zabini I hope,” sighed Hermione.

“No, uhh Theodore Nott.”

“Yes I know him.” 

Hermione paused re-evaluating the girl in front of her in light of this new information. 

“Remind me how old you are?” 

“22.” Venetia replied defiantly, as if it were a test.

About ten years younger than Hermione (and Nott, she thought uncharitably) and she would have been only 8 when the war ended. No wonder she didn’t understand why Malfoy being in their department was complicated.

“Look, there’s no delicate way of asking this and before I do I want you to know this has no bearing on your job with me. You came highly recommended and in the three months you’ve been here so far I have no cause for complaint.” Hermione began, “But you’re a muggleborn witch aren’t you?”

“Uh, no actually,” started Venetia, blushing slightly, “My mother is pure-blood my, dad was muggleborn. I took his name because of everything that was going on when I was growing up. It seemed safer.”

Hermione barely had time to marvel that the world they’d created post-war meant identifying as a muggleborn was less discriminatory than a pureblood before Venetia continued.

“I know that Malfoy and that lot don’t have the best reputation but they’ve been nothing but kind to me. And I don’t talk about work, I swear. I wouldn’t.”

“I believe you. But look, the Malfoy’s, Nott’s and many other prominent families were on the Dark side during the war. It was a different time and as far as I’m concerned they’ve all paid their debt to society especially the Malfoy’s but wizards have long memories and some things are hard to move past no matter how many reparations are made.” Hermione explained gently.

She continued, “it’s why Malfoy is only allowed in this department by request or permission from a department head. It was one of the conditions of his working at the Ministry after his sentence. I’m not saying I agree with it,” Hermione sighed, “By all accounts Mister Malfoy and his friends in their various roles are very good at what they do, and they’ve all certainly grown up since we were at school, but there are rules in place that must be followed.”

Venetia nodded.

“You’re an incredibly bright witch. Just, be sensible. I advise you to take another read of the handbook I provided when you first started working for me. It should all be in there.”

“I will. Uhh thanks.”

Hermione smiled her dismissal.

“Do you want the weekend papers along with today’s?” Venetia asked as she stood to leave. 

“Oh yes please, I had a bit of a busy weekend, so didn’t get chance to catch up.”

As Hermione waited for Venetia to bring in the papers she can’t quite believe how quickly she explained away the actions of certain families in the War. She still remembered that time vividly and if you’d told her teenage self that one day she’d be in an office sticking up for Malfoy. Well, teenage Hermione would’ve sent you to St. Mungo’s. 

  
The rest of Hermione’s week passed without much incident. There were of course still moments when her reality hit her like a herd of Hippogriffs, but for the most part she was able to do what she’d always done – get on with things.

Of course, constant appearances from Harry and Ginny made it quite hard to continue business as usual. In fact, they’d both casually popped by her flat or office so many times in the last five days that she had threatened to hex them both if they didn’t stop. 

So when there was a light tap on her door during lunch on Friday – the one hour Harry knew Venetia would be at lunch and he could sneak past – Hermione, who was trying to finish a case that had been bugging her all week felt her admittedly short temper fray.

“For Merlin’s sake Harry! I warned you!” She pointed her wand to the door and it flew it open.

“Please don’t say I remind you of Potter. I might have to get myself checked into St. Mungo’s to deal with the horror of the thought.” A very non-Harry Draco drawled.

“Oh, sorry. I thought you were-” Hermione muttered sheepishly.

“Potter, yes. I established that much.” 

Draco took a step into Hermione’s office, which cleared her mind. Standing from behind her desk sharply she said, “I thought we established that you couldn’t be here.”

“Without permission, yes Granger I am aware of the terms of my own employ,” He sighed, “Although your charming little secretary doesn’t seem to mind.” He added with a leer.

“Firstly, don’t say secretary it’s dated language, she’s my assistant.”

Draco rolled his eyes at her.

“And secondly, nice try. She told me there’s nothing going on with you and it’s actually Nott she’s dating.” Hermione can’t help the flicker of disgust that wrinkled her nose.

“Yes, we all feel that way about Theo.”

“I mean, he’s ten years older than her,” grumbled Hermione.

“I think Theo prefers it that way, less sure in their own mind to question him. Anyone close to his age tends to find him quite wearing, quite quickly.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but Draco continued over her.

“I’m not saying I agree, just that it’s Theo’s way. It’s easier if you don’t think about it as a love match more of a marriage of convince if you will. She’s a Fawley on her mother’s side and there aren’t a lot of other options for the Nott’s.” He finished.

“It is quite worrying how you all just recite genealogy off the top of your heads. Do you have a chart you go home and consult,” sniffed Hermione.

“I don’t but I imagine some of the lesser families do.” He replied indifferently, brushing an invisible piece of fluff off his robes, which Hermione couldn't help but notice were a well-tailored black style..

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“Kidding,” Draco replied holding up one hand in surrender, he paused, tilted his head and then added, “well mostly.”

“If you’re not here to flirt with my assistant, why are you here?” Hermione asked.

Draco held up a brown folder, “Macmillan sent me.”

He held out the folder to her, Hermione took it but didn’t open it.

“It’s the latest from our man in Berlin, but I don’t know…” Draco sighed, and trailed off.

“What is it?” 

“There’s something off about these reports but I can’t put my finger on it. I mentioned it to Macmillan and he suggested you take a look.”

“OK. I’ll look at them today if I get chance, but we’re pretty swamped here.” She replied, adding the folder to the growing pile on her desk.

“So I see. Has no one in this department heard of a tidying charm,” He grimaced, “It would be so very tragic for you to survive a war and then be killed by an avalanche of paper.” 

“Your concern is duly noted.” She snarked, before adding with a sigh. “Everyone wants everything sorted before tonight, as though the guests will give a damn if an underage witch in Ireland accidentally turned her brother green.”

Draco’s mouth quirked up into a half smile.

“If I get stuck for conversation with the Ambassador later I’ll be sure to bring it up.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn’t help her own small half-smile.

“I’m so sorry Mrs Granger-Weasley, this has nothing to do with me!” Venetia burst in suddenly, having come back from her break and noticed the blonde head of Draco Malfoy in her boss’ office.

“Charming.” Draco scoffed.

“Don’t worry, he’s here on business.” Hermione soothed, “And he was just leaving.”

“Granger. Miss Scott.” He nodded, before leaving the office.

“I got your dress.” Venetia said, hanging a clothing bag on the back of the door.

It’s Hermione’s dress for tonight’s Ball. The Ball she’s been trying to not think about. It will be the last event with Ron as husband and wife. 

“Oh, thank you.” She replied gently.

“Of course. I’ll get on with those memos.” Venetia smiled, pulling Hermione’s door behind her, “then we might both get to leave with enough time to get ready, rather than a hasty glamour charm.”

Hermione sank back down at her desk and put her head in her hands, if only a hasty glamour charm could fix her problems.

  
She heard the pop of apparition as she was putting the final touches to her hair. A low bun with a few loose curls courtesy of a taming spell and years of practice.

“Hey,” Ron called out.

Hermione had known it was him, he’s one of the only ones who could get past the wards, but still hearing his voice makes her start. 

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Sure thing.”

Hermione smoothed down the non-existent creases on her midnight blue gown and squared her shoulders. The boatneck line is flattering and under normal circumstances she’d think she looked alright, but right now she doesn’t care. She just wants to get tonight over with.

Ron stood awkwardly in the centre of the sitting room. Striking in his navy dress robes, Hermione can’t help still finding him attractive even if he’s no longer the man she once knew.

“I-” Ron started.

“We should get going, if we want to have time to meet Ginny and Harry.” Hermione cut him off.

“Right, of course.” 

“We should, uhh go together, just in case.” Hermione suggested awkwardly.

Ron nodded and held out his hand. She stepped in towards him and took his hand. Looking up into his bright blue eyes they both think “Leaky Cauldron” before closing their eyes and apparating.

For as long as Ron, Harry and Hermione have been forced to go to Ministry events their tradition has been to meet for a nerve-steadying drink beforehand. At the beginning it was because they were all under so much scrutiny that having a quiet moment to themselves was the only way it felt survivable and then it became tradition, a little thing that was just theirs. 

Hermione spots Harry and Ginny in the usual corner and thinks bitterly that this is yet another thing that will be ruined by Ron’s choice.

“Hermione you look gorgeous,” cooed Ginny as she stood to hug her.

“So do you. Green always looks so good on you.”

“I know. I should’ve been a Slytherin.” She laughed.

“Ha, as if.” Harry teased stepping back from where he’d been saying hi to Ron to hug Hermione.

“Mum would’ve disowned you.” Ron laughed.

“She’d have been fine, it’s amazing what she’ll overlook in her children,” Ginny replied coolly.

“Gin.” Harry murmured warningly.

“I’ll get the drinks.” Ron sighed, running his hand through his hair, “the usuals?”

“I’ll give you a hand,” Harry said, as they all nod.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked as soon as the boys were out of earshot.

“I think he’s been a git and I’m not going to pretend otherwise.” Ginny remarked.

“Ginny.”

“He’s my brother and I love him. I’ll fight anyone who says a word against him, but right now I don’t like him very much and it doesn’t matter what you or Harry say I think he’s being a right royal prat.” 

“Perhaps,” Hermione acknowledged, “but it’s not your fight Ginny.”

Ginny frowned at her friend, “How are you so OK?”

“I’m not. But I will not let the most prominent witches and wizards in society see me crack, so I just need to get through tonight and you sniping at your brother doesn’t help.”

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said sincerely reaching out to take Hermione’s hand.

“I know. You’re a Weasley, subtlety is not your strong suit.”

“I’ll try harder.”

Ginny was as good as her word. When the boys returned she started chatting away as though nothing had changed.

“Remind me to top up my glass before the Minister starts her speech this year. Honestly, I thought I was going to die of boredom last year.” Ginny sighed, as they finish the last of their drinks.

“That’s why you should always stand next to George or Fleur,” Hermione replied, “both of them always have flasks.”

“Hermione, I am scandalised,” teased Harry, his hand clutching at his chest in faux horror.

“You know I think Amelia Bones is the best woman for the job but she spoke for ten minutes on the achievement of the French Quidditch team. Ten minutes! Even I have my limits.”

“No Quidditch honours this year are there?’ Ron asked.

“Nope, a few war honours though, so get ready for that Harry.”

Harry sighed. It may have been almost fifteen-years but he was still not comfortable with being the face of the victors.

“If you need me I’ll be by George and Fleur,” he laughed.

“It’s not just Harry,” Ginny said, “eyes will be on you two too.”

“I know, but it’s just one night.” Hermione sighed.

“And I came prepared.” Ron admitted with a small smile before he opened the side of his dress robes to show a flask. 

“Excellent. Hermione you take George, I’ve got Fleur and Gin can stay sober.” Harry laughed.

  
The Ball wasn’t that bad, these things rarely are. But Hermione was aware of herself the whole time. She felt like an anxious teenager again, instead of the composed successful woman she was. She accepted the hugs that last a beat too long from all of the Weasley’s. She stood next to Ron and worked the room as she’s meant to but it feels like she’s not really there, not really present.

“I’ve given you two opportunities to tell me off and you’ve taken neither of them. Are you sick?” Malfoy asked her as they’re standing at the bar.

The Ministry no longer did magical refills after an unfortunate incident a few years back.

“It’s been a long week Malfoy. It may surprise you to know my world does not revolve around you.”

“Nonsense. Everyone’s world revolves around me.” He smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Hello Hermione,” sang an airy voice from behind her and Malfoy.

“Oh hello Luna,” she turned with a smile to hug her old friend.

“Mister Malfoy.” Luna smiled.

“Miss Lovegood,” He returned, “those earrings are quite striking.”

Luna appeared to be wearing miniature replicas of eagles as earrings, their wings flapping around her neck. 

“Oh yes, I know you’re more partial to peacocks but I do love an eagle. And the flying doodads didn’t look right with my dress.”

“Well of course not, wrong colour.”

Luna beamed and looked down at her vivid Cerise gown.

Hermione shook her head at the interaction and turned back to accept her drinks.

In one of the strangest things to happened post-war Malfoy seemed to be one of the only people that doesn’t think Luna is 100 per cent certifiable. Hermione isn’t sure if he’s always slightly mocking Luna or if he just enjoys the nonsense but they have quite a civil relationship these days. She’d asked Luna about it once and the girl had simply replied that Malfoy understood more than he showed. Which wasn’t helpful.

“I should get these to their owners,” Hermione remarked referring to the drinks. “Lovely to see you Luna, I’ll find you later.”

“Just look for the eagles.” Luna smiled.

“Malfoy.” Hermione nodded reservedly.

“Granger. Always a pleasure.” He said with a smirk designed purely to annoy her she thought. 

She took the drinks over to Ron and Harry mentally counting down the minutes until she can leave.

  
Two days after the Ball and Hermione is drained, but still can’t sleep. All of Saturday had been spent with Ron going over the details of the end of their marriage. Even though they were both being civil and had agreed an equal split down the middle it was still a particularly painful process.

She had assumed that she would fall fast asleep after all the emotional energy she had used but instead she’d slept for a few hours before waking while the moon was still high in the night sky. Hermione had gone to sit on the sofa hoping that a change of scenery might shock her back into tiredness, but instead she’d been sat under a blanket not reading for the past four hours.

“I know he’s a git but you have to admit even Malfoy looks pretty hot in this picture,” Ginny announced as she apparated straight into Hermione’s sitting room and dropped the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet onto Hermione's lap.

“Huh?” Hermione replied with a frown reaching one arm out from under the blanket she had pulled over herself. 

“They obviously went with a photograph of you, Harry and Ron from Friday night for the lead. Though Circe knows why. Have we not all seen enough of you three over the years,” Ginny lamented.

Hermione looked at the paper. Under a large headline there was indeed a portrait of herself flanked by Ron and Harry. It’s the pose they’ve used for longer than any of them can remember – Ron on the left, Hermione in the middle and Harry on the right – and even though they’re all smiling, it’s with the fixed expressions they always have in official Ministry photographs. Nothing like the real grinning pictures of the three of them Hermione has at home.

“But, flip the paper over.” Ginny began, reaching out and doing just that so Hermione was looking at another photograph, “and you’ve got another trio.”

“Merlin’s beard, that’s a lot to take in first thing.” Hermione muttered.

Ginny grinned, as she tucked her hair behind her ear, “isn’t it.”

Hermione looked at the photograph of Blaise Zabini, Gabrielle Delacour and Draco Malfoy. The three of them had their heads tilted together in conversation for a split second before turning as one to smile and look at the camera. The lazy smile from Blaise, with the positively coquettishly look from Gabrielle and Malfoy’s smirk was an arresting sight. Especially with the three of them wearing their best formal wear. 

“I didn’t even see Gabi at the party,” Hermione admitted.

“Me neither but Fleur said she’s in town for a bit.” Ginny shrugged, “I didn’t know she knew Malfoy and Zabini but I guess if you look like that you stick together.”

“She consults for the French Ministry, so they may have worked with her on occasion.” Hermione replied absently before she looked up from the picture to Ginny her eyes narrowing.

“Why are you here? You can’t just apparate in. It’s eight am on a Sunday morning what if I’d been naked or sleeping!” Hermione demanded suddenly.

“There she is,” Ginny smiled to herself, before looking serious “I was worried about you.”

Hermione said nothing.

“I know yesterday must have been hard.”

“It was but it was always going to be,” Hermione replied after a beat of silence, aiming for a light tone. “Now I’m just sitting here waiting for Births, Deaths and Marriages to open so I can start the process.” 

Ginny didn’t look convinced but she let it drop. 

“About that. Harry and I have been talking and we think you need to draft a statement for the press.”

Hermione looked horrified but Ginny pressed on.

“This is news Hermione. Or will be once some blabbermouth in Marriages leaks it. Pretending it’s not happening will not make the Prophet go away. You and Ron need to be prepared.”

“I-” Hermione began but she knew Ginny was right. Like it or not the news that Harry Potter’s best friends, two thirds of the so-called Golden Trio were getting a divorce would be big.

“They did a four page special on your wedding.” Ginny pointed out softly.

“And a souvenir booklet on yours if I remember rightly. I think I might still have a copy somewhere.”

“Don’t remind me. Harry was pissed off for weeks,” Ginny grumbled. “But that is kinda my point. You lot will always be newsworthy and the only way to protect yourself is to get out in front of it. I know you can see the logic in that.”

“I can.” Hermione admitted.

“Excellent. Come over for supper tonight. Seven-ish so you can see the kids, then Harry and I will help you draft something,” Ginny said suddenly standing up business like. 

“You planned this.”

“Perhaps.” Ginny admitted, “But perhaps I wanted to gossip about how hot Malfoy, Zabini and Gabi looked.”

Hermione frowned.

“Two things can be true.” Ginny laughed, before leaving with a wave.

When Hermione looked down there was a lemon and poppy seed muffin on her side table and a freshly brewed mug of tea, and she couldn’t help but laugh, Ginevra Potter is truly something. Taking one last look at the picture of Malfoy, Zabini and Gabi, it was truly a lot to take in first thing all those high cheekbones and twinkling eyes. She smiled to herself as she broke off a piece of the muffin, shaking her head she flipped the Prophet open the the Business section. 

  
“How did you get in?” Draco complained as he opened one eye to stare at Blaise who was sat at the end of the bed tapping his wand lightly against his leg.

“Masha let me in. You weren’t answering.”

“Because it’s nine-thirty am on a Sunday morning Zabini.” Draco huffed, “Please fuck off.”

“Nope. I have gossip and you’re going to want to hear it.” Blaise sing-songed.

“I assure you no gossip is worth you barging into my bedroom at this Merlin forsaken hour. You’re lucky I didn’t hex you on sight.” 

“Please it’s practically lunchtime,” Blaise drawled, “Besides, I’m not an idiot, I put a Protego charm around myself before I woke you up.” 

Draco launched a pillow at Blaise and scowled when it bounced off the air around him and back towards Draco.

“Prat.”

“Get up, I’ll make you coffee.”

Draco scowled and arched one eyebrow in disbelief.

“Fine, I’ll ask Masha to make coffee but trust me, this is worth getting out of bed for.”

Draco sulked for five minutes and contemplated going back to sleep purely to spite Blaise, but his friend had seemed almost giddy, and he was usually a good source of gossip. With a groan, Draco got up. Pushing his blonde hair out of his face and pulling on a jumper over his pyjama bottoms he grabbed his wand and padded downstairs.

“This had better be fucking good.” Draco complained, coming into the kitchen where Blaise was perched on his counter top. “Can’t you sit on a chair like normal human?” 

“I could but it would annoy you less, so what’s the point.” 

The smell of coffee lingered in the air and Draco looked over to the over to see Masha, his elderly house elf, pouring the freshly brewed pot into two mugs.

“I should give you clothes for letting him in here.” Draco scowled at her.

“Mister Draco said Mister Zabini was on the allowed list.” Masha replied squeakily.

“Yes but not directly in my bedroom.”

“Mister Draco said, _‘it is none of Masha’s business who comes in and out of Mister Draco’s room or when.’_ ” The elf's high pitched tone not quite resembling Draco despite her best efforts.

Blaise laughed as Draco frowned. 

“Still.” He grumbled.

Masha placed the coffee in front of him as he sat down on one of the stools at the island in the middle of his kitchen.

“You would miss me if I was gone sir.” Masha smiled, her big wide eyes and small tuft of white hair gleaming up at him.

“I bloody wouldn’t. Sod off.” 

Masha left the room with a grin and a bow, apparating away leaving only a pop of sound behind her.

“You’ve gone soft with her. Your father would’ve given her a beating years ago.” Blaise observed.

“Probably, but my father was a right royal bastard when he was my age so I won’t be too offended by the lack of similarities.” 

Blaise tilted his cup in acknowledgement.

“So, what’s so scandalous you trekked to all the way to North London on a Sunday morning to annoy me.”

“It was one Floo stop.”

“You’re the one who always complains,” Draco pointed out.

“True. I don’t know why you don’t live closer to me.”

“Because I don’t like your part of town. Plus we are wizards. Distance is irrelevant.” Draco explained, not for the first time, “Now get on with it or I’ll assume you just wanted to see me in bed.”

“Call it a lucky perk,” Blaise leered with a wink.

Draco rolled his eyes. He leant his elbow on the counter, chin in his hand and his grey eyes fixed on his friend.

“Do you remember that witch I was hooking up with in the Department for Births, Deaths and Marriages?” 

Draco thought for a moment, “I remember the blonde wizard.”

“No, the redheaded witch. Remember she came out with us a couple of times but Pans said she was boring.” 

“Oh yeah, she was kinda dull.”

“Not in the bedroom.”

“Lovely.”

“Anyway, we still see each other occasionally when we’re both at a loose end.”

“Please spare me the details of your sex life, it is far too early and I am far too disinterested,” sighed Draco.

“For another time then,” Blaise grinned lazily, “Anyway, I hooked up with her last night and was all ready for round two this morning.”

“Truly, kill me now.” Draco interrupted.

“Oh stop being a drama queen, I’m getting to the good part.”

“Did you get married? Because this is a really strange way to tell me.” Draco teased, laughing at the shock on Blaise’s face.

“Don’t even joke. Merlin, the horror.”

“Ok, so this witch…”

“Well, she gets one of those new group memos that the Ministry have been trialling, you know the ones that go to multiple people at once and they can all add a message.”

Draco vaguely recalled something like that but they hadn’t made their way his department yet, “Right, and?”

“And she’s being called into work. On a Sunday to deal with a highly delicate matter. Lots of people are. The whole memo is top secret and all in hushed tones about a wizard divorce. ”

“Is this your way of telling me my parents have separated and you’re my new daddy, because honestly that feels more like a lunch conversation,” remarked Draco lazily.

“Funny but no. Probably bigger implications with this one than if your folks split to be honest.” Blaise considered before taking a sip of his coffee.

Draco looked at his friend seriously now, “Go on.”

There’s a pause then Blaise announced, “Granger and Weasley are splitting up.” 

Draco was stunned for a moment as he stared at Blaise whose smug smile was lighting up his face as he watched Draco take in the news.

“No fucking way,” Draco eventually remarked.

“Yes fucking way. I swear it on my pretty face, which you know is the most important thing to me.”

“Fuck,” Draco breathed, “Granger and Weasley. I didn’t think they’d have it in them. Assumed they’d be together forever and all that other Gryffindor bullshit.”

“Quite.” 

“They were a bit odd at the party on Friday but it’s them, I just assumed it was Weasley being Weasley.”

“A bit of a prick?” Blaise suggested, as Draco nodded in agreement.

“According to Lizzy, the witch I was shagging, they’re going to try and keep it quiet, but I reckon it will be in the Prophet by the end of the week.”

“Oh definitely, this is huge. Might even get ol’ Skeeter out of retirement to pen some bullshit about the decline of wizarding marriages.” Draco scoffed.

“I bet you ten Galleon’s it’s in the paper by Friday.” 

“I’m not taking that, there’s more chance of Daph shagging you again than this staying out of the news. It’s the fucking Golden Trio breaking up. It’ll be headline stuff.”

The two men sat in silence drinking their coffee.

“It almost makes me a little nostalgic for when I hated them and took pleasure in tormenting them all,” Draco sighed, “I could get milage out of this for years.”

“You probably still can mate.” Blaise said reasonably, “I assume Granger got bored and realised she could do better, which means Weasley is going to be fucking foul. I might call some inter department meetings just to wind him up myself.”

Draco laughed, “that’s an excellent point. A light teasing never hurt anyone and it’s not like Weasley was ever one to keep his head down.”

“Worth waking up for?” Blaise asked smugly as he tapped his fingers on his mug.

“For once Zabini, it actually was.” Draco smirked at him. “Granger and Weasley over. Who’d have fucking thought.”


	3. I Remember When This World Was My Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone continuing to read this, I know it's a slow (slow) build but I hope you'll stick with me/it. 
> 
> Chapter title from [Pray to God](https://youtu.be/8FOBxcluXdk) by Calvin Harris (feat. HAIM)

**IT’S OVER: GRANGER AND WEASLEY SPLIT**

_The Daily Prophet can reveal that Ronald Billius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger have decided to separate after five years of marriage. In an exclusive statement to the prophet they said, “It is with reluctance, and heavy hearts, that we have decided to separate and end our marriage. We are two best friends who have decided to part ways as a couple, but will maintain a loving and respectful friendship. We have always tried to conduct our relationship privately and while we appreciate your curiosity and support we ask the press and public to be mindful of our right to privacy as we work through this next stage.”_

_They have also announced that neither they or their families will be making further comment at this time._

_The couple who have been together since their teenage years are best known for their roles in helping Harry Potter defeat the self-titled Lord Voldemort in the Second Wizarding War. Yet, they are also known as a power-couple in their own right, with Weasley a successful Auror and Weasley-Granger heading up the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. In what will be a shock to many in the wizarding community who saw the couple together most recently at the New Years' Honours Ball last week some have long suspected their paths were taking them in different directions (see Rita Skeeter’s comment on Pg 14)_

  
Happy bloody Monday Hermione thought as she frowned down at the front page of the Daily Prophet for the third time in as many minutes. She’d known it was coming of course. The short statement, which had taken a surprisingly long time for the both of them to draft, had been given directly to her former classmate Pavarti Patil who was currently lifestyle editor at the Prophet. She’d even known there would be an accompanying article and opinion piece – Pavarti had warned her the night before _(it’s out of my hands I’m afraid. I’ll keep the front page neutral but I’ve heard they’ve got Skeeter out of retirement for comment)_. Yet, even though she’d known it was coming there was something about seeing it all in black and white that made it real. Or more real if you could say that.

She glanced again at the front page and scowled at the image they’d chosen. It was a picture of her and Ron taken last year. They were standing together and smiling but then abruptly he turns his back to her and she walks out of the image. It’s a clever choice because it’s technically exactly what happened, so she can’t accuse them of not being truthful but it’s also not the whole truth. The picture has been carefully cropped so that Harry, who was on the other side of Ron in the image, can’t be seen. In fact that’s the reason Ron turns and she walks out of shot, because the photographer wanted a follow up image of just the two men. There was nothing sinister, nothing even remotely hinting at trouble that day but you wouldn’t know it from the photograph.

It’s probably the first time Harry’s ever been cropped out of a photograph she thinks cynically, she might owl him to tell him he’s welcome.

She’s interrupted from her cynical musings by a noise in the outer office. She glanced at her wrist watch, it’s just past eight-o-clock. Hermione had assumed she’d have a least another 30 minutes to herself, Venetia isn’t normally in until 8.45 and she’d told Harry and Ginny not to come by – she doesn’t want more attention.

The door to her office is pushed open and she sees Venetia’s back before the young witch turns round.

“Godric!” Venetia exclaimed one hand going to her heart and the other clutching tightly to the brown bag she’s holding.

“You scared me!” She breathed looking accusingly at Hermione.

“It’s my office.” 

“I know that but I wasn’t expecting you to be in until later.” 

“I’m often in early,” Hermione replied lightly, “you on the other hand are here at eight forty-five almost without fail.”

Hermione raised one brow. A light blush coloured Venetia’s cheeks.

“I still live at home, just for now. It’s expensive to live in town and well, my parents aren’t that far out of London. Anyway, my dad works at Prophet printing press so we get the early editions and well, they know I work for you and well I saw…” She trailed off unable to meet Hermione’s gaze.

“None of which explains why you’re here at eight am.” 

“I knew you wouldn’t want to talk about it with me and that it’s none of my business anyway, but I wanted you to know I think you’re a great boss and an amazing witch and yeah… So I stopped by that muggle bakery you like, you know the one in Soho, and got you one of those flat white things and a custard tart. I was just going to leave it on your desk.” Venetia explained in a rush.

Hermione doesn’t speak, she doesn’t know what to say. She’s unbelievably touched.

“I knew you wouldn’t want a fuss, so I didn’t want to make one but I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t aware.” Venetia added softly coming towards Hermione’s desk and putting the brown paper bag down gently.

“Thank you.” Hermione replied sincerely.

“I put a warming charm on the drink, so be careful.” Venetia told her turning and making her way back out of the office.

“Venetia?” The witch turns back around, “thank you.”

The young witch left the office her smart black robes swishing behind her. Hermione took a deep breath and ignored the stinging sensation behind her eyes – she won’t cry in the office, she’s tougher than that. 

Less than five minutes later Venetia knocks on Hermione’s office door and opens it gently.

“Yes?”

“Mrs Weasley– Uhhh, I mean, Ms. I mean.”

“Ms Granger is fine.” Hermione told her.

“Sorry Ms Granger. Uhh, what would you like to do about your diary? I already have a pile of memos the size of a snufflegruff requesting meetings with you…” Venetia trailed off.

“Anything in my diary for today can stay other than that no meetings with anyone.” Hermione answered firmly.

“What about Mr and Mrs Potter?”

Hermione sighed, “they shouldn’t come by but in case they do then yes. The Potter’s are fine. As are owls from the Longbottom’s, any Weasley’s and Lovegood-Llewellyn’s. Other than them please hold my calls and no meetings other than the schedule ones.”

Venetia nodded determinedly, “got it boss.”

She closed the door behind her as Hermione broke off a piece of the delicious pastry on the custard tart and popped it into her mouth. She doesn’t tend to have sweet treats – she is a dentists’ daughter after all – but if any day called for it, it would be today. After a fortifying sip of her coffee, she pushed the copy of the Daily Prophet into the recycling bin and pulls up her sleeves, these cases won’t work themselves.

“And Weasley won’t be joining us?” Ernie asked, he’s looking at Hermione but it’s Harry that answers.

“He’s on an assignment in Romania. It ran longer than expected,” shrugged Harry.

Hermione can feel all eyes on her and she can feel her cheeks warming even as she determinedly looks at her parchment. How can Ron not be here today of all days, she fumes silently careful not to let the frustration show on her face.

“Romania. Huh, so far away.” A witch Hermione doesn’t recognise said pointedly.

Hermione feels her temper about to snap when Draco Malfoy speaks up. It’s meant to be a whisper, but it’s a stage one at best.

“Oh do you remember that summer in Romania Blaise? Or was it Hungary, Merlin it might have been Bulgaria? The Eastern Bloc tends to blend, except for that one witch Nora wasn’t it?” drawled Draco his quill tapping on the page while he looked over at Blaise.

“I thought it was Noelle?”

“No that was that holiday in Gstaad. Now, that was a fun weekend.”

“Was that the one where Goyle ate an entire wheel of Brie.” Blaise mused.

“No that was Verbier. Nott had the fondue in Gstaad, oh and and it was the one with the triplets I do believe.”

“If you two are quite finished!” sniffed Macmillan.

They both turned and gave him their most innocent smiles, which coincidentally look like they could melt steel.

“So, as I was saying, the investigation into the Americans…”

Hermione isn’t listening, she’s relived that she was able to get away from the speculation so quickly. And without her or Harry hexing anyone. She’s known Malfoy a long time, this reformed Malfoy has been in her life for more than seven years actually working together and she’s never known him to brag so openly like that. If she was not such a smart witch she might think he’d intentionally drawn focus.

She looked up finally, as Ernie continues _(it’s not that we don’t think there’s an issue, however)_ and caught Draco’s eyes almost by accident. She gave him a small thank you smile. It might not have been intentional but she still appreciated the distraction. He returned her smile with a slight tilt of his head. It sends his blonde hair flopping into his eyes, if Hermione was a betting witch she’d say it was a practiced move, it makes him look both devilish and sincere, quite a feat. The small quirk of his mouth into a crooked smile is not something she’s seen before though. It feels almost natural.

“Mrs Weas- er, Hermione, what do you think?” Ernie asked breaking her concentration.

“I think I’d like to hear all the options,” Hermione fumbled, playing for time. 

It seems to be the right answer because Ernie nods, more to himself than anyone before turning to Blaise, “So Zabini. What can the DoM tell us?”

The meeting seems to go on for hours, which frankly feels like an obnoxious way to end the week. Though of course Hermione’s week has already been pretty grim.

She can tell that something about the meeting wasn’t quite right, it seemed like there is nothing to implicate the American’s and yet Ernie spent ages on it. She wished she wasn’t so tired, she’d be able to work it out if she got just get a full eight hours sleep she’s certain. 

Her confusion over the meeting reminds her that she wanted to catch up with Malfoy, so as the meeting finally drew to a close and everyone starts to file out she called after him.

“A minute Mister Malfoy?”

He stopped and turned back to face her. 

She waited for everyone to leave the room before she said, “I took a look at those files from our man in Berlin, but there was rather a lot that was redacted. What I could make out was rather interesting but it would be better to get the whole file. Is that possible?”

The words were light, merely a polite enquiry on a work matter but unbeknownst to Hermione it was exactly what Malfoy had wanted when he’d left the file with her.

“Of course. I’ll get them owled over to you. I’ll add in the recent dispatches from our witch in Paris too, they should help brighten up certain elements.”

“Thank you.” Hermione nodded before busying herself with her papers in preparation to leave the room.

“Uh, Ms Granger. I was sorry to hear about your recent change in circumstances,” said Malfoy in a polite tone she’s not heard him use before.

Hermione glanced up at him briefly and scoffed before turning back to her papers.

“Fine, not sorry per se,” He amended, “but surprised.” 

“Thank you. I’d rather not discuss it if it’s all the same.”

Malfoy looked horrified at the thought and Hermione stifled a smile, those upper class wizards are all the same, a hint of feelings and they look like they’re about to pass out.

“I see we’re both in agreement there. However, I do wonder if you have taken independent counsel?”

“Excuse me?” Her tone is cool.

“A magical divorce is not entirely straightforward.” He replied carefully.

“I am aware of that and although it is frankly none of your business Ron and I are splitting everything fairly and graciously.” She sniffed.

“Even the most gracious of situations can turn quickly as well you know.”

Cutting her off from what looks to be an impressive rant coming his way, Malfoy reached into his robes and pulled out a card. He handed the heavy stocked rectangle business card over to Hermione who paused for a moment before reaching out to take it, her curiosity getting the better of her, glancing down at the raised silver lettering.

_**THEODORE NOTT ESQ** _

She frowned at Malfoy.

“I know, but he is very good. Just take a meeting find out your options.”

“Why are you doing this?” Hermione asked puzzled.

“You know I’m not Weasley’s biggest fan. You’re leaving him and he’s bound to be hurt whatever he says, a clever witch considers all options. And you’re nothing if not clever.” 

There is so much in that short sentence that Hermione wants to pick apart that she is momentarily stunned. Malfoy seemed to take it as further sign she is uninterested and displeased.

“Honestly, just meet with him.” He sighed.

“Even if I wanted to, which I don’t.” She grumbled, “I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Oh the first chat is pro bono.” He replied airily.

The look on her face is still clearly unconvinced because he added, “it never hurts to do your research Granger.” 

“Now if you’ll excuse me I believe there’s a fairly large firewhisky and a very pretty blonde waiting for me.” He smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes as he left with a flourish. She put the card in her pocket and does her best to forget about it, but fingers it lightly as she walks back to her office.

The persistent rain that has dogged London for the last few days continues to batter down outside as Hermione picks up the parchment in front of her again. It’s been three weeks since her life publicly fell apart and perhaps she’s been hiding in her work, the note in her hand from Ginny certainly implies as much, but she doesn’t feel that’s quite fair.

Of course at first she was hiding, why wouldn’t she. Ron was in sodding Romania and then on assignment somewhere with Harry and she was the very public face of the end of the marriage between two of this generation’s greatest heroes – Witch Weekly’s words, not her’s. So yes, if she spent a little longer in her office than usual and declined evening plans, then that was no crime. It might have been hiding at first, but now it was more than that. Malfoy had made good on his promise to send over the unredacted files and she had spent more than one night going over them. As well as the reports from Dean in Berlin, Malfoy had also included reports from Gabrielle Delacour their liaison in Paris. On first glance nothing connected the two sets of files but when Hermione politely enquired if he’d accidentally given her anything not connected to the initial reports the sneer and low drawl had made her feel sixteen again. 

So here she was on a Friday night, sitting on her sofa surrounded by strange reports on pureblood marriages and babies. It was a far cry from her previous life at home with Ron in Sussex, there’d always been dinners with friends or families, plans to make, a busy life to lead and now it was just her. 

Well three weeks was plenty hiding, she decided. Tomorrow her life would start again, or at least start to start again. 

Hermione reached for her quill and scribbled a note to Ginny replying that she wouldn’t be out for drinks tonight but would love to have lunch at Godric’s Hollow on Sunday. She attached the note to the tawny owl in the corner that had been a wedding present to Ginny and Harry from her and Ron. 

“Good girl wol,” she soothed the owl, “take this straight to Ginny. Sorry about the weather.” She added as she opened the window and lett the owl out into the night.

Tomorrow she would take the day for herself, whatever that looked like now but tonight she would finish these files.

  
In the first year after the war was over Hermione had gone back to Hogwarts. Education was the foundation of everything she believed in and she wanted to complete hers. Unsurprisingly Ron and Harry hadn’t agreed. The adrenaline of war hadn’t yet left them – they wanted to get straight into training to be Aurors. The youngest for centuries as they both told her proudly, more than once.

The boys had rented a little flat in the centre of London, preferring the muggle streets to the wizarding ones – after all they were still incredibly famous – but needing to be close to the Ministry for training. Whenever Hermione got a break from Hogwarts she would head down to London to visit, often with Ginny in tow. On the visits when Auror training missions clashed with her time there, Hermione would still go – unlike Ginny who preferred to be on a broom or with her family – but she wouldn’t hide in their flat. Instead she’d wander muggle London, often ending up in Liberty’s the grand department store at the top of Carnaby Street. Even though most of the items were impractical or out of her price range she’d spend hours wandering the homewares floor, taking in the serene calm and feeling utterly invisible. On the occasions when she craved invisibility, but also mental stimulation she’d make her way to Waterstones on Piccadilly or Foyles on Charing Cross and float among the aisles of books looking for something to take her mind off every day life.

Hermione wasn’t that eighteen-year-old girl any more but she still couldn’t resist a bookshop to ease her mind. Now that she had to relearn who she was if she wasn’t one half of Ron and Hermione, Hermione and Ron, she retreated back to her first love – books. Daunt’s Books was technically a muggle book shop, though technically was the key word here. Old man Daunt was a wizard who’d fallen in love with a muggle. He hadn’t renounced his magic, but he barely used it preferring to live in the muggle world exclusively. He would always give Hermione a small knowing nod when she entered the store – and once had told her that the Notting Hill branch had an entire room dedicated to wizarding books hidden behind the sci-fi section – but the Marylebone store, her favourite, was entirely muggle. And in Hermione’s opinion entirely wonderful.

She skipped the travel section, even though that was what the shop was famous for, she didn’t feel much like going on an adventure these days. Instead she wandered over to the classics, you couldn’t go wrong with those. Ignoring Dickens, insufferable man – she’d met him once, his ghost still haunted East London – and the Bronte’s, she made her way to Shakespeare. It had been a while since she’d picked up any plays. Her fingers grazed the spine of Romeo and Juliet but she quickly moved on, a story about two people who died for love wasn’t quite what she was in the mood for.

Heading towards the tragedies, she was wondering whether to re-read all of the Royal plays starting with Richard II when a voice next to her made her half jump out of her skin.

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”

Hermione whirled round and found herself staring at a very familiar blonde man. 

“Malfoy?” She breathed incredulously, one hand on her heart and the other one clutching the wand in her pocket.

“You know he didn’t write them.” He said lazily, as though bumping into her in a muggle bookshop on a Saturday afternoon was an entirely regular occurrence.

Hermione said nothing, too shocked that not only was Draco Malfoy, Malfoy, in a muggle bookshop but that he was quoting Shakespeare and talking to her about him quite casually.

“What?” She managed eventually.

He looked down his sharp nose at her with a narrowed gaze that implied he thought she was being very slow on the uptake and repeated slowly, “Shakespeare, the most famous writer that ever lived. Didn’t actually write his plays.”

Arguing with Malfoy was something that Hermione knew inside her bones, so she didn’t think twice before replying, “That’s only a theory, everyone thought that Christopher Marlowe wrote them but it’s been roundly disproved.”

“Oh I don’t mean him, I mean the wife Hathaway.”

“Huh?”

Hermione looked at him with as much skepticism as she could muster. But he seemed oblivious, wandering along the row of Shakespeare anthologies a long pale finger stroking the titles as he did. In his black wool coat, forest green jumper and jeans he could just be a normal muggle, quite a handsome one too if he wasn’t who he was. He turned sharply on his heels and moved closer to where she was standing, still clutching Richard II and said, “She’s one of ours you know,” dropping his voice before adding, “a witch.”

“Nonsense.” Hermione replied automatically.

“It’s true. I think she’s distantly related to the Greengrass’s on her mother’s side. Tori would know. Or Pans for that matter.”

“Pansy Parkinson has heard of William Shakespeare?” 

Hermione wondered if she was dreaming. She still hadn’t been sleeping well and her subconscious would put her in a bookshop, of that much she was certain. She didn’t think it would put Draco Malfoy there but it made more sense than her being awake discussing Pansy Parkinson and William Shakespeare with him. 

“Oh yes and she is not a fan let me tell you,” Draco continued casually, “honestly don’t get her started on how he stole his wife’s legacy.”

Nope, she was definitely awake. She bristled, and snapped, “You lot and your pure blood fanaticism. Honestly you’d think you’d have moved on.”

“Careful Granger, you know what they say about assumptions.” Draco remarked raising one eyebrow, “Pans doesn’t care about ol’ Will being a muggle. She cares because he’s a man who stole a woman’s legacy.” 

Draco took advantage of Hermione’s shocked silence as an invitation to continue.

“Honestly, since she came out she’s really taken the strident lesbian mantle to heart. It’s quite insufferable. Especially when she’s with Millie. One militant lesbian is a lot, two is exhausting.” He drawled lazily.

“I didn’t take you for the type to care about sexual preference,” Hermione replied archly finding her voice again, “after all isn’t Blaise your best friend and everyone knows his tastes are,” she paused, “varied.”

“Varied?” A shocked laugh that sounded a little like a huff took both Malfoy and Hermione by surprise. 

“Was that you trying to be polite?” He laughed again despite himself. 

Hermione felt the blush rise on her cheeks.

“Varied. Priceless. Blaise will fucking love that.” He said with a grin.

Malfoy’s grey eyes twinkled at her as though they were sharing a joke and she looked away quickly. Godric, she needed more sleep.

“And to your earlier point I don’t care who Pans shags or falls in love with for that matter. But she was a pain in the arse when we were kids always having to be right and know everything and now she’s got a crusade she’s fucking unbearable.” He’s silent for a moment looking at Hermione appraisingly. “Actually remind me to never introduce you two. Now you’re no longer ideologically opposed you’d probably be rather terrifying.” 

“Ideologically opposed,” Hermione scoffed, “now who’s being polite.”

“Touché Granger.” He acknowledged with a nod of his head.

Hermione absently shook her head, her brown curls flurrying around her. Drawing herself up straight she said, “as illuminating as this little chat has been, what on earth are you doing here?”

For a brief moment she wondered if he’d followed her but dismissed it as soon as it came into her mind.

“Oh don’t get yourself in a state, it’s nothing nefarious. Or to do with you.” He added as an afterthought.

“I never said.” Hermione spluttered but Draco continued over her.

“Old Daunty and my mother go way back. He’s been donating books for the Manor Project, I’m just here to collect them.”

“The Manor Project encourages children to read Muggle books?” Hermione asked in a surprised whisper.

“Oh yes. ‘How can we avoid repeating the sins of the past if we do not acknowledge the mistakes we once made’” Draco drawled in a more-than-passable impression of his mother.

“Don’t look so shocked Granger, it’s a very unattractive expression on you.” Draco said.

Hermione glared at him, but he simply responded with one of his trademark smirks.

“This has been illuminating as ever,” Draco snarked, “but I must go. Mother will murder me if I don’t get these books back in time to say hello to her before going out.”

“Right,” Hermione nods, “I’d say it’s been lovely…”

“But you don’t like to lie.” Draco finished with a grin.

“Something like that.” Hermione replied.

“I’ll get Daunty to add that to our tab,” Malfoy told her pointing down at the copy of Richard II she was still clutching, “but do try and go for one of the lighter ones next time.” 

As he turned to leave he threw a book at her and said, “this is a Malfoy family favourite.”

She fumbled to catch it almost dropping Richard II in the process.

Hermione looks at the title, Hamlet. A play about power, wealth, family and the consequences of your actions. She looked up confused to see Malfoy looking back at her, a ghost of a smile playing around his lips. He tilted his head goodbye and walked his off black coat billowing behind him almost cloak-like.

She looked down again at the book and then up at the space where Malfoy once was. It should be impossible but it almost seemed like Malfoy was having fun, telling a joke. And not a joke at her expense but one with her.

Hermione left with both plays and the latest Sally Rooney – there was only so much Shakespeare a witch could take – and made her way down Marylebone High Street to the nearest apparition point. When she reaches it she decided to walk a bit further to the next one, the day is clear and crisp her favourite kind of weather and she’s preoccupied. Not with Ron, for once. But with the curious case of Malfoy being nice to her.

His mother and his aunt were fussing again, and it was beginning to interrupt Draco’s hangover. This is why he didn’t go out with everyone on the Saturday night before he had to have brunch with his family. It wasn’t worth it. The hangover potions – as good as they were – were a little less effective as you got older. Almost as if they were judging you for still drinking to excess in your thirties. 

“He’s just such a pompous twit. No wonder they’re not responding to him.”

“Who’s a pompous twit?” Draco asked idly, it really could be anyone involved with his mother and aunt’s project.

“The Finch-Fletchley boy.” His mother replied.

“Oh yes, he always was. Snotty little Hufflepuff.”

“Draco!” His mother admonished, “We’re moving past all that.”

“Mother, I don’t hate him because of his house or his blood status. I hate him because he is as you say, ‘a pompous twit.’”

Draco saw his father bury a smirk behind the weekend edition of the Prophet and wished he could do the same.

“What about that Abbott girl. The younger one? I always liked her.” Draco’s aunt Andromeda suggested.

“Perhaps, I’m just not sure she has the right gravitas.” Naricissa replied absently.

“What is the problem?” Draco asked despite himself.

“Mister Finch-Fletchley is not connecting with the children here. They aren't responding well to him anymore," Andromeda explained.

“The latest children are so removed from the war they don’t seem to believe it could happen again. Not to them. They know it happened to their parents but because things are stable now, they don’t believe blood purity would ever be an issue again.” His mother explained, as Draco helped himself to more coffee.

“What they don’t see is it could go the other way.” His aunt added, “I’ve heard rumblings from some of the older orphaned pureblood children about how unfair it is that they’re penalised.”

“Really?” Draco asked.

“It’s what I’ve said from the beginning,” Lucius sighed putting down his paper, “As wonderful as your project is, it’s only one piece.”

“I know darling, but we have to do something. I won’t go through that again. I won’t have other families suffer.” Narcissa said quietly but fiercely. 

When Narcissa Malfoy and her sister Andromeda Tonks announced plans to the family to turn Malfoy Manor into a home for orphaned children after the war no one had been more surprised than Draco. His father was in prison and Draco himself was serving a suspended sentence – no going near the ministry, no contact with dark wizards (not that he had any desire to do either) – and his mother wanted to do something. Something to make amends.

He’d thought it was a vanity project at first but the Manor Project, spearheaded by his mother and aunt, really began to work. And now, ten years after they first started it, their first set of children were getting ready to receive their Hogwarts letters.

An idea came to Draco slowly, while his parents were discussing Teddy, his second cousin, who was apparently hating the increased work for his OWL courses at Hogwarts this year.

“Mother, how much time would you require from this person?”

“What darling?”

“The person you wanted to come and spend time with the Manor kids instead of Finch-Fletchley. How much time would they need to give?” He asked.

“Well, Justin does a couple of days a month, but we could be flexible for the right person.” His mother replied.

“Why?” His aunt asked.

“Well hearing you talk about Teddy made me think. What about Hermione Granger?” Draco kept his tone deliberately casual.

“She’s head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Draco. I don’t think she’d have time for the Manor.” His mother dismissed quickly.

“You say that but now her marriage has ended, I assume she has more free time. Plus she’s never met a cause she didn’t like.”

Draco had never been more thankful that other than his dearly-departed evil aunt Bella, no one else in the family was a good legillmens. He didn’t need them casting about in his mind for his motives for suggesting Granger. He wasn’t even sure of them himself.

“Oh that’s not actually a bad idea. When Harry came to see me and Teddy recently he did say he was worried that Hermione was focussing too much on her work.” Aunt Andromeda added.

“Well I’m not surprised. The marriage ending just out of the blue like that, and without children. It’s incredibly unseemly.” Narcissa gossiped.

Draco who really doesn’t want to talk or even think about the Granger Weasley marriage, especially not on a hangover said, “Whatever, it’s just a thought.” 

He shrugged casually before he added, “It would be quite the publicity coup too. Especially with this year being fifteen years since the end of the war.”

Draco knows his family well enough to know that now is the time to drop it. You get nothing from the Malfoy’s by pushing things.

Reaching for a piece of toast he said, “Father did you hear that Gareth Greengrass has decided to buy a Quidditch team.”

“What?” Lucius laughed.

“Apparently so. Tori was telling me that it’s her father’s latest plan,” He smirked at his dad.

Narcissa opens her mouth, but Draco is ready for it.

“No mother, I am still not interested in marrying Astoria. And she is still not interested in marrying me.”

“He’s not going for an English team, surely? The Greengrass’s wouldn’t have the funds.”

“No. Scottish apparently.” Draco smirked again, as his father starts to laugh.

As Lucius started to talk about Gareth Greengrass’ delusions of grandeur, Draco decided that the only reason he suggested Granger for the Manor Project was because he’d bumped into her yesterday so she was on his mind. Not on his mind of course, though it had been interesting to share a joke with her about Shakespeare, but in the forefront of his mind. That was all. Motives decided he joined in with his father’s musings about why owning your own Quidditch team was really just an exercise in vanity and watching your vault empty.


	4. You Look Like Yourself, But You're Somebody Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [You're Somebody Else](https://youtu.be/qVdPh2cBTN0) by Flora Cash

“An interesting meeting appeared in my diary for next week.” Theodore Nott told his two oldest friends over a pint of ale at the Leaky Cauldron.

The three of them had a standing engagement to meet on the last Wednesday of every month, a tradition that went back to school days when they’d all meet in the large alcove in the left west corridor to slag off Potter or talk about girls before the war put pay to their childhoods.

“Oh yeah?” Blaise asked.

“Hermione Granger.”

“Really?” Blaise questioned, “I wouldn’t have thought she’d go to your firm for anything.”

“Going through a wizarding divorce isn’t she. Knowing Granger she probably did hours of boring research and found out Theo’s the best,” Draco shrugged. “She probably overlooked that he’s the best because he’s the shadiest.”

“That’s true,” Blaise admitted. He took a large swig of his pint before he said, “You know every date I’ve been on for the last few weeks all they’ve wanted to talk about is Granger and Weasley. If it weren’t for the fact that Potter’s name isn’t mentioned I’d think I was back at school.”

All three men laugh. They’re discussing the latest Gringott’s stock prices when their pints run down.

“Zabini it’s your round, don’t even try to get out of it.” Theo kicked his friend’s chair.

“I’m going.” Blaise grumbled, getting up from their table.

“Funny story,” Theo began lazily, fixing his piercing stare on Draco reminding the man why his oldest friend is such a good lawyer, “Granger included a note with her meeting request. Saying that she had been given my name by an acquaintance and while she wasn’t sure she needed my services long term she would appreciate the initial meeting. Oh and she just wanted to be sure that there was in fact no charge for the first meeting as she’d been told.”

Draco straightened slightly in his seat, “What did you say?”

“I said I looked forward to seeing if I could help.”

“Right.”

“You and I both know I’ve never done an hour’s work for free in my life,” Theo pointed out, “This has your scheming all over it.”

Draco frowned but said nothing.

“Quickly before Blaise gets back and I make you tell him everything.”

“Fine, I gave her your card. Weeks ago I might add,” Draco huffed. 

When Theo said nothing he continued, “I owe her OK. After the war, vouching for me and everything and this is a way I can pay her back, and possibly screw over Weasley.” He added as an afterthought.

“You Malfoy’s and your refusal to be indebted to anyone.” Theo sighed fondly.

“After what we all went through, are you surprised?” Draco replied archly.

“Of course not. I just hadn’t realised how far it extended.” 

Malfoy said nothing.

“You know if she does accept my counsel it won’t be cheap,” Theo said eventually.

“I’m not sure she will. Gryffindor fair play and all,” Draco replied, “But if she does. We’ll work something out.”

Theo nodded.

“I’ll cover it, whatever the cost.”

Blaise arrived back at their table with three fresh pints and a complaint, “Honestly the barmaid wanted to talk about Granger and Weasley, and the two blokes next to me were talking about you and Potter on the charity quidditch game.” He tilted his head towards Draco.

“It really is like being sixteen again.” Draco laughed.

“Wonder if Daph would shag me again for old times sake?” Blaise leered and the three of them snicker into their pints.

  
The offices of Nott & Associates were behind an easy to miss – even by wizarding standards – simple black door with a large brass knocker. Only a few doors down from the Leaky Cauldron, the door managed to feel incredibly anonymous but still impressive, which was precisely the impression Hermione assumed they were going for.

She pressed the bell and before she had time to check no one had seen her the door opened and she stepped into an impressive hallway. Black and white tiles shone underfoot as she made her way to the witch sitting at a small reception desk.

“Hermione Granger for Theodore Nott.”

If the witch sitting behind the desk recognised Hermione, and she likely did, she didn’t give a flicker of it away. 

“Of course, he’s expecting you. All the way to the top his secretary will meet you.”

Hermione thanked the witch and made her way up the stairs. The plush Burgundy carpet under foot seemed to muffle the sound of her steps as she walked the four floors up to Nott’s office.

She was expecting a cramped attic room at the top of the building but when the secretary (who Hermione couldn’t help noticing with a hidden smile was old enough to be her grandmother) showed her into the office she was impressed by the large windows and light filled room. A bookshelf full of law tomes Hermione recognised lined one wall and behind a big mahogany desk sat the man she was here to see.

Hermione self-consciously smoothed down her already smooth black robes and walked to greet Theodore who had his hand outstretched.

“Mr Nott.” She nodded shaking his hand.

“Please Ms Granger?”

She nodded at the use of the name and he continued, “take a seat.”

“Thank you for taking the time to see me, I’m sure you’re very busy.”

“Of course,” he replied, leaning back in his chair and undoing the bottom button on his charcoal grey muggle suit, “what can I do for you?” She noted his robes hanging on the coat stand.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, “I would’ve assumed you know why I’m here.”

“In my line of work it’s best not to assume.”

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes, bloody Slytherin’s. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware Ronald Weasley and I recently separated and have decided to divorce. While we are treating this as amicably and fairly as possible, it was pointed out to me that independent research never hurts in these situations.”

“Quite right. May I ask who recommended me?”

Hermione hesitated.

“Lawyer confidentially.”

“You’re not my lawyer yet,” she rolled her eyes at his smirk before saying, “Draco Malfoy.”

“Of course.”

“Ms Granger, could you tell me the details of your split. It’s not for any sensational reasons don’t worry,” he added at her concerned look, “but for me to properly advise you I need to know what happened.”

“Umm,” Hermione looked down at her hands, “Not much happened really. I thought we were happy, Ron didn’t. He told me just after New Year quite how unhappy he was and that he wanted a divorce.”

“Is there anyone else? For either of you?” 

Hermione looked up but Theo was scribbling notes and not looking at her.

“Definitely not on my side and as far as I’m aware not on his either.”

“As far as you’re aware?” He asked shrewdly.

“He says not but it’s somehow easier to think he did meet someone else than he just stopped wanting to be with me.” She shrugged not meeting his eye.

“Any assets?”

“We have two properties in the UK. A three-bed house in Sussex and a one-bed flat in West London. And we have a joint vault in Gringott’s that has all salaried money. There has been no inheritance on either side.”

“Thank you. And how long were you married?”

“Five years.”

“No children?”

“No.”

“And what have you two discussed as your options?”

“We’ve both said we want a quiet, simple process splitting everything fifty-fifty. I’m currently living in the London flat and he’s in Sussex. I assume we’d have to sell the properties or buy each other out but we haven’t quite got there in terms of details yet.”

He nodded and jotted something else down before looking up at her. She sat quietly as Nott regarded her. She hadn’t known him much at school and didn’t really know him now, but something in his steady gaze made her feel considered and listened to. She could see why he made such a good lawyer.

“May I be frank with you Ms Granger?’

“Please.”

“Magical divorces are still fairly new. They happen of course, but Magical Britain is a much more conservative society than others and many families prefer to do things the old way.”

“Live unhappily forever?” Hermione couldn’t help but interrupt sarcastically.

“Yes, actually.” Theo smiled, “However that means that many of the laws surrounding divorce are old, archaic even.”

“Mr Nott, I’m head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I know a thing or two about archaic laws.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Theo laughed softly. 

“You said that you and Weasley intend to split everything fifty-fifty is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Under Wizarding law a fifty-fifty split is fine, perfectly legal and generally understood as good practice. However in your case it may be slightly more complicated.”

“Why?”

“The Weasley’s are a pureblood family and therefore he is entitled to everything,” said Theo frankly.

“Excuse me?” Hermione exclaimed.

“It’s an old bit of legislation, one that rarely if ever comes up honestly, but under the old edicts he is entitled to everything because as a pureblood he is from ‘original magic’ and as a muggleborn you are not.”

“Oh what nonsense,” Hermione bristled.

“Ms Granger I am not saying it’s right or that it is the path Weasley would go down but it is currently the law.”

Hermione scowled at him.

“Would you like to read it for yourself?” 

“Yes please.”

He summoned a red leather-bound book over from the shelf with his wand and brought it to land in front of her open to a page about a third of the way through.

“From sub section 2, from Clause c I believe.”

Hermione picked up the book and began to read:

_Under the Magical Marriage Act of 1743 only families from traditional wizarding institutions, that is to say Original Magic, shall be permitted goods under the dissolution of a marriage._  
_Clause d – if the marriage is entered between a traditional magical family and a semi-traditional family then a provision of 25 per cent of family gold is allowed (though not entitled)._  
_Clause e – If the marriage results in a child that lives beyond infanthood a home should be provided for the child, which the non-traditional party is allowed to reside in._

Just as Theo had said, as a non-pure blood she was not entitled to anything in the marriage. If she was a half-blood she’d be entitled to a measly 25% of monetary assets and if she had children she’d have a place to live but other than that she was entitled to nothing.

She glared so hard as she read, and reread, the passage, she’s amazed it hadn’t caught fire.

“I am going to assume you didn’t sign any pre-nuptial agreement otherwise I imagine you’d have mentioned it.”

“No we didn’t.”

“Well that both complicates and makes things easier.”

Hermione looked away from the passage she’d been scowling at and up at Theo with frown.

“A pre-nup would have given clear guidance into what you’re entitled to. Both of you. So it would be useful, but without it we can argue that you do deserve marital compensation.”

“This is awful.” Hermione croaked out, her hands clutching the book on her lap.

“Ms Granger. My role here is to tell you the options, this is not what will happen but what might happen.”

Hermione nodded. Even now, so long after the war, successful in her own right, and most of her life spent with magic she was still somehow less than. She felt the tug of pain behind her eyes and stared at the carpet willing herself not to get emotional.

“May I be honest?” asked Theo shaking her from her thoughts.

“I thought you already had been?” She arched an eyebrow looking back up at him.

“I’ve been frank not honest.”

“Lawyers and their semantics,” she mumbled, “yes be honest.”

“I do not think Weasley will take this course of action.”

“May I ask why? You don’t seem to be his biggest fan.”

“I admit he would not be my first choice on a desert island however personal feelings aside that is not why I don’t think he will pursue this path. From what you’ve told me your marriage ended suddenly, but as amicable as can be in the circumstances,” he paused as she nodded, “so he won’t be trying to beat you or win. The Weasley’s are also not the most, uhh traditional, of pureblood families-“

Hermione scoffed but he carried on as if she made no sound.

“Therefore I would be surprised if they’re aware this law is still in existence. If they are however, and he has taken his own legal counsel or just talked to a sensible person, he would quickly realise what a terrible option it would be from an optics point of view.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Theo leant back in his chair casually and reached for today’s issue of The Daily Prophet, which she had not seen on his desk.

“It has been, what? A month or so since you announced your split,” Hermione nodded, “and still it is in the papers. Not front page anymore of course but a rather lengthy opinion piece and a few flattering articles in the society sections. There is sadness around your break-up but currently there is goodwill toward both of you. If Weasley tried to take all your money and assets using an old pureblooded law from you the most famous muggle-born witch of our time who fought alongside him to end those prejudices, well…” He trailed off.

“He would be crucified in the court of public opinion,” Hermione finished for him.

“Indeed. And that’s before I’ve fought your case all the way to Wizengamot if need be.” 

“You would take my case? If it came to it?”

“Of course. If you wanted me to.”

“Why?”

“I assume you’d pay me.” Theo smirked.

“I would, but I’m well aware you don’t need the money even with all the post-war reparations your family made.”

“True, but a case like this would make me. I’d be the most sought after lawyer not just in Britain but in the wizarding world.”

“Even if you had to be on the wrong side to do it?”

He narrowed his gaze at her, “the wrong side?”

“Against the Pureblood families.”

“Ahh,” he nodded in understanding, “I’m sure you know the sides are not as clear as they once were and I assure you neither I nor any of my generation, certainly not my friends, would enact this ridiculous law.”

“Always good to be clear,” sniffed Hermione.

“I agree.”

“Thank you for your time Mr Nott, it’s been incredibly illuminating.” Hermione said standing up and placing the law book on the desk in front of him.

“My apologies if it’s not what you were hoping to hear.” Theo replied, also standing, doing up the bottom button on his suit as he walked around the desk to show her out.

In his well-made suit and with his confident stride, Hermione thought he looked every bit the impressive lawyer. Certainly a man you’d want on your side of a case.

“I don’t think it will come to this. I hope it won’t,” she said fervently, “but I have your card if it does.”

He held out his hand and shook hers before opening the door, “Ms Granger,” Theo acknowledged before closing the door behind her.

Once she’d gone he sat back behind his desk and gets out his quill.

_D – You’re getting the drinks in for the next month, but that’s all you owe. Thanks for the intro, could be a hell of a case, if it comes to it._

_TN_

He’s about to roll the parchment up when he unfolds it and adds.

_V says are you still coming for lunch on Sunday? I’ll tell you all about it then if I see you._

He rolls the parchment, seals it and takes it out to his secretary asking her to owl it directly to Draco Malfoy. 

  
Hermione can’t get the meeting with Theodore Nott out of her mind, it’s been plaguing her all week. She doesn’t think Ron would do that, she’d bet her life on it but she also knows divorce can change people and maybe just because he wouldn’t doesn’t mean his lawyer or family wouldn’t advise him to. No, she shook the thought out of her head quickly, the Weasley’s weren’t like that. They were family and they loved her, they weren’t grubby Purebloods out for money.

Thinking about Purebloods brought her mind back to the files in front of her. There was a piece missing from the files Draco had given her, whether it was intentional or he didn’t have all the information yet she wasn’t sure, but there was only one way to find out.

She picked up the files retied the green ribbon around them and left her office.

“Venetia, I’m just popping to International Cooperation. Shouldn’t be long.”

“No problem.” Venetia smiled before returning to the piles of parchment in front of her.

Hermione kept her head down as she made her way to Draco’s office, too many people still wanted to talk about her split with Ron even though it had been well over a month since the announcement and was none of anyones bloody business.

As she reached the Department for International Cooperation, she walked past Ernie Macmillan who was wearing travelling robes and looked as though he was done for the day

“Hello Ernie, heading out?” 

“Yes, I’m taking a half day. Always nice to get out early on a Friday isn’t it.” 

“It is. Up to anything nice?’ 

“Just wedding planning, you know how it is.” Ernie answered absentmindedly then blanched when he remembered who he was talking to.

“Indeed I do,” Hermione smiled, “I won’t keep you from it, I know there’s lots to do. Enjoy.”

She walked through the department until she reached the small office Draco worked from. It’s in a row with three others and they all share an assistant a perpetually grumpy man Hermione can never remember the name of, Max? Martin? Michael?

“Is Malfoy in?”

“Yes,” the grumpy wizard sighed.

Taking that as agreement to go in, Hermione shifted the files under her arm, knocked on the door and opened it when she heard a yes from inside.

“Granger,” said Draco looking up, if he’s surprised to see her he doesn’t show it.

Shutting the door behind her she asked, “Does he hate everyone or is it a case by case basis?”

“What Marvin?”

She clicks her fingers, “Marvin.”

“I think he hates everything based on the loud sighs that emit from him almost hourly.” 

Hermione grinned and sat in the chair opposite his desk. 

He leant back in his chair, twisting his quill, “I take it you didn’t just come to talk about assistants. Though if you’re looking to trade I will gladly give you Marvin for Venetia.”

“Not a bloody chance.” 

He smirks at her and for a brief moment Hermione thinks he looks like the schoolboy she once knew. Sitting in his shirt, cuffs folded over, with his tie askew. Of course, unlike then there’s no malice behind the smirk this time.

“I’m returning these.” She said putting the files on his desk, “I have questions.”

“Thought you might.”

She opened her mouth to speak but Draco interrupted her looking serious suddenly, “not here. We should speak outside the Ministry and with Zabini too.”

He scribbled something on a piece of parchment and handed it over to her.

It’s an address and time.

“Tonight.”

“What if I had plans?” 

“Do you?” He asked, the serious look gone replaced by a playful quirk of the eyebrow.

“No but-” He knows she's not going to refuse, her interest is already caught, and she know he knows that too but it never does well to give in to Malfoy too quickly.

“Well, now you do.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but a loud sigh from outside stopped her from replying, instead she laughs lightly and smiles at Draco who sighs himself and runs his hand through his hair.

“See what I have to put up with,” he informed her dramatically.

“I’m sure you’ll survive. I’ll see you later.”

She smiled at Marvin and told him to have a lovely day and a glorious weekend as she left Draco’s office and can’t help but smile further at Marvin’s confused look and the huff of laughter she heard from the office behind her.

Hermione apparated directly to the address on the piece of paper and was surprised to find a modest mews house. She’d been expecting something grand, after all just because the Malfoy’s lost some of their status and money directly after the war they weren’t exactly struggling for funds.

She knocked lightly on the door and felt the hum of magic around her briefly, before it swings open. There’s no one in front of her and she’s confused for a second until she looks down at a very old house-elf with a shock of white hair. She also appeared to be wearing oven gloves as trousers.

“Oh hello, I’m here to see Mr Malfoy.”

The elf nodded but before she can say anything, Draco appears at the door.

“I’ve got this Masha,” he said, before moving aside and letting Hermione in.

“If you were here the whole time why did you let her answer the door?” Hermione huffed coming in and not even bothering to look around before glaring at him.

“Have you ever tried an apparation competition with an elf, I suggest you don’t. You won’t win.”

Hermione opened her mouth to retort. 

“Don’t even start with me Granger. Masha is paid as much as she wants and gets time off. Although I think she goes to either Hogwarts or the Manor when she’s taking time off so it’s not what I’d call a break but I learnt a long time ago not to argue with Masha.”

“Coat miss?” Masha asked, reaching out for Hermione’s coat.

“Thank you Masha.”

Once she'd handed over her coat Hermione straightened up and looked around. She wondered as she took in the huge expanse of space that was not at all visible from the outside if she’d ever be a witch long enough to stop taking things at face value.

The space is open plan with a large comfortable sofa an huge fireplace to her left and a kitchen to her right, at the back is a long dining table, which she thinks might be marble. Everything is in shades of grey, white and a blue so dark it could be black offset with hints of concrete and stainless steel around the room. It screams wealth, but surprisingly not too ostentations or severe. It’s not quite homely, she likes a little more chaos in her living space personally, but it is inviting. Draco, or more realistically his mother, has a good eye.

She turned back to Draco and finds him watching her coolly, “Your place is very,” she paused trying to find the right word, “minimal.”

“Minimal, that’s one word for it,” said Blaise, coming up from a staircase in the corner Hermione hadn’t noticed, “it takes a lot of money to make it look like you’ve got nothing.”

“Oh sod off. We can’t all be luxuriating in our velvet and silk townhouses.” Draco replied, in a light voice which made Hermione think this is a conversation they’ve had more than once. 

“I think it’s very nice, though I hardly think I’m here because you want to hear my thoughts on your interior design.” Hermione concluded.

Draco and Blaise shared a smirk at that. 

“Can I get you anything to drink? Tea? Water? Wine.” Draco asked politely.

“Let’s start with tea shall we.”

While Masha makes the tea, Draco, Hermione and Blaise head to the dining table, which is a grey marble as she’d expected and probably cost more than most people make in a year. She can see folders spread out, many of which had been in her office just days ago.

“I assume you wanted to meet here because you don’t trust the ministry,” She said nodding down at the files.

“Correct. It’s not the swamp it once was of course, but this is incredibly delicate,” Blaise agreed.

“I’m not sure I’ve quite worked it all out,” admitted Hermione frustration lurking around the edges of her voice.

She accepted her tea and watched as Blaise and Draco share a look.

“What have you worked out?” Draco asked.

“Well, in theory nothing in any of these files is connected. Dean’s dispatches from Berlin say that there have been a high case of muggle born or half-blood witches coming down with pregnancy related illnesses, often fatal. While Gabi says that Paris is experiencing a baby boom, the likes of which that normally come after a war not fifteen years later,” Hermione began.

“On the surface the two things that are not linked given they’re happening in different countries, but you obviously think there is a link or want me to think there is because when I asked for the un-redacted files from Dean you included the files from Gabi too.” 

“Go on.” Draco prompted.

“I did some checking of these cases and decided to include Britain too and it seems that in the last five years pureblood families have started to marry outside of the traditional families.”

“Nothing untoward there. The lines are dying out,” interrupted Blaise.

“Indeed. And I’m the first to tell you lot to stop inbreeding, given it often does lead to some instability along the way.”

Draco hides a smile at that, Blaise grinned widely.

“But, why now? And what does that have to do with these issues in France and Germany. And what does it have to do with you two? That’s the bit I can’t connect. I can see it is connected but I feel like I’m missing a piece of the puzzle.”

“That’s because you are,” sighed Draco.

“Granger, what we’re telling you is of the highest confidence, some very unpleasant people are involved.”

“I can handle myself Zabini,” Hermione replied coolly.

“Oh I am well aware.” 

He sighed and picked up a quill from the table and twirled it between his fingers, “what do you know of my mother?” 

Hermione confused by the apparent subject change blinked, then said, “Not much. The rumours are that she’s very beautiful and marries a lot.”

“That is all true. And all of my step-father’s tend to have unfortunate accidents in ways that are very hard to prove and mean my mother inherits their often not-inconsiderable fortunes.” Blaise grimaced, “Though I do hope this one sticks around I rather like old Hugh.”

“Yes, his tickets to the Quidditch were very good.” Draco agreed, “Not to mention that Ogden’s blend.”

Hermione coughs pointedly.

“Sorry,” Draco smirked as Blaise continued.

“Because of my mother’s history and my good family name I tend to still be allowed entry into certain levels of society. And about two or three years ago it started to come to my attention that suddenly pureblood families were letting their sons marry witches they would have once considered beneath them. However, I like you, thought very little of it. Times have changed after all.”

“But that’s not what it was, is it?” asked Hermione. Her brain already running ahead considering all of the possibilities.

“Oh they were certainly getting married, but these witches were suddenly becoming ill after pregnancy, retiring from public life never to be seen again and in a few unfortunate cases dying in childbirth.”

“And if the families grieved and mourned for a while, well not all hope was lost because now there was a new baby who was either a half blood or practically pureblood and who would be raised by a good wizarding family.” Draco finished, his tone poison.

“Oh Merlin, no.” Hermione breathed.

Draco nodded at her before pushing his hair back from his faces and said, “We don’t have proof otherwise we would have destroyed the whole thing by now, but it appears that there is a pureblood baby ring taking place among the most prominent families in wizarding Europe.”

Hermione was silent for a long moment before she looked up at Draco and remarked, “I think I’ll have that wine now, red if you have it.”

When they’ve all got a glass of wine in front of them and Hermione has taken a rather large, if a little unladylike gulp, they continued. 

“How are they getting the witches to agree?” She asked, once they’ve confirmed everything they know between them and gone back over the cases that Dean and Gabi have found, “I mean pureblooded wizards aren’t exactly known for their charm when it comes to wooing.” 

“Hey!” Draco complained affronted, “I’m plenty charming I’ll have you know-”

“That’s it,” Hermione cuts him off, “They’re charming them. Potions or something, right?”

“That’s our best guess.” Blaise confirmed. 

“We think a balance of the Imperio curse and Amortentia. Both damaging if used too much on their own but together…” Draco trailed off.

“That is fucking repulsive.” Hermione snapped.

Both men looked at her with shock.

“It is!” She exclaimed.

“I know that, I’m just not sure I’ve heard you swear before.” Blaise recovered first.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“So why come to me?” 

“Because we want to stop it.”

“That’s what the Aurors are for.”

“While Potter and his band of merry men are no doubt effective, this requires a little more finesse than stun first ask questions later.” Draco sneered in a move that reminded her of their former Potions professor.

“Right. So you want my department involved but in a subtle way,” said Hermione putting it together as she spoke, “because it involves the Ministry doesn’t it.” 

Draco and Blaise nodded.

“That’s why you held that stupid meeting about the American’s. They’re a smokescreen. You just wanted prominent families in a room.”

She thought back to who had been in those meetings and then at a sudden realisation snapped, “I hope you’re not implying the Weasley’s or the Potter's would ever. Because I can assure you that while our marriage might have failed Ron did not coerce me and Ginny and Harry are-”

“Relax Granger,” Draco replied, “You were there because it would’ve been weird if you weren’t.”

She narrowed her eyes at them but they seemed sincere so she lets it go and considered who else was in the room.

“Oh Ernie,” Hermione muttered softly after a beat.

“I believe the marriage is scheduled for June, which given they’ve only been together since the New Year does seem a little fast, but she looks quite besotted,” said Blaise lazily, throwing a copy of the Prophet to Hermione. It’s open on the society pages, where a picture of Ernie Macmillian and his young fiancée grin up at them. She’s practically twisted around the man, it’s quite distracting. 

“Ugh.” Hermione frowned and flipped the paper over.

“Quite. We have a few other suspicions too but I’d prefer to keep those under wraps for now.”

“My assistant, Venetia is half-blood and she’s dating Theo, isn't she?” asked Hermione dangerously, "And the Nott's are quite the high-connected family."

“Yes, and he’s quite genuinely smitten with her.” Draco replied just as cool.

“I thought you said it was a pairing of convenience?” She countered, recalling their conversation from months ago.

“I thought it was,” admitted Draco.

“But, if anything it would be the other way round with them, he is quite taken and she seems unconvinced,” Blaise added.

“I thought you said he got bored easily,” Hermione continued, refusing to let it go.

“He does usually.” Draco shrugged, “But this one has him charmed.”

“We’re as confused as you. But it does seem to be legitimate.” Blaise said.

She goes to argue but Draco cuts her off.

“Hermione, we slipped an antidote in her drink to be sure and we’re far too aware of the discrepancies when someone is under an Imperius curse to have missed that.”

She’s not sure whether it’s the rare use of her first name or the fact that even though he’s their friend they were still looking out for Venetia that gets through to her.

“Oh no. Does this mean we’ll have to go to their wedding,” Hermione joked in a horrified tone to try and lighten the mood.

“He’ll probably ask Draco to stand up with him,” Blaise laughed before he added, “your mother will be insufferable.”

At Hermione’s questioning look, Draco sighed, “My mother has been trying to get me to settle down for years now.”

“Aren’t you always telling me how charming you are and how you’re such a catch, surely it can’t be that hard to just find someone to marry,” teased Hermione.  
  
“That sounded so like your mother, I checked to see if I had a coaster under my glass.” Blaise pretended to shudder.

“I’ll marry if and when I find a witch I’m charmed enough by thank you very much,” said Draco snootily. “I thought you’d be quite anti-marriage these days anyway,” he added, looking at Hermione.

“Oh just because I’m never going to marry again doesn’t mean I’ve turned against an entire institution, I still love love you know and my marriage wasn’t all bad,” Hermione remarked, attempting for casual before picking up her glass and finishing of the last of it.

“You not being married has slightly changed my plans somewhat I must admit,” Blaise said idly as Draco topped up their glasses. 

“Yes mine too.” Hermione replied dry.

Blaise and Draco chuckle at that.

“I was going to get you and Weasley to meet with some of these new young couples, try and get a sense of the witches but it doesn’t work as well if you’re on your own.”

“I’d apologise for Blaise’ lack of tact but it’s really best to just get used to him,” commented Draco as Blaise threw a balled up piece of parchment at him.

“What about you two? You’re both eligible bachelors can’t you put word out that you’re interested in getting married?”

Both of them pale at her words in their own way.

“No. My mother would have a list before these pureblooded arseholes could even try and recruit me.” Draco sighed, before adding harshly, “Not that I would want to be recruited thank you very much.” 

“And I think we need to keep me in reserve as it were. If there’s no other way I might be a useful option if we don’t play our hand too early.”

Hermione nodded.

“Ok, so we know Ernie loves a chance to be praised but that he won’t want to take his new fiancée out and about too much in case it is too obvious a charade,” Hermione mused, “but what if we had a little event he wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“It would have to be something sufficient enough to boost his ego.” 

It comes to Hermione in a flash and she can’t help but groan aloud.

“What?”

“I presume you’re playing in the Quidditch charity match.” She asked Draco.

“Of course. Both Potter’s are too right?”

“Yep.”

“So we do it there.”

“Granger, I know Quidditch is not your thing but that is not prestigious. It's at Hogwarts for Circe sake, everyone will be there.”

“Yes, but not everyone will be in the top box.” She replied.

“Oh that is actually very good.” Blaise agreed, "The beauty is in the simplicity."

“I have to be there and in the good seats because of Harry and the Weasley’s,” she muttered embarrassed.

“And you’re a war heroine and impressive in your own right. Don’t play down your privilege, we all have it.” Draco admonished.

She scoffed but continued, “But obviously with my current circumstances my guest list isn’t quite what it once was and I have these two spare tickets and would Ernie fancy them, it’s been so long since I’ve spent time with new people,” Hermione trilled, “blah blah blah.” She finishes with a lazy wave.

“Very good. Top box with Hermione Granger, he won’t be able to resist.” Blaise admitted.

“We should stack it with other names too. Theo and Venetia? Pans and Millie?” Draco suggested.

“Not Pans and Millie, they’ll be in Mexico. But I’ll go and I think Gabi will be in town so she can be my date.” Blaise replied.

“Bill and Fleur could be convinced, especially if her sister is there. Plus she’s trying to set me up so any chance she has to tell me how I could be more appealing she jumps at.” Hermione complained.

Both men grinned. 

“Leave the rest of the list to us. We can stack it with the right names that a social climber like Macmillian will care about.”

“No one too dull please. I would like to have some attempt at conversation.” Hermione grumbled not liking the way the two men smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, we're getting into the drama now. Next up Quidditch, Ron and Hermione talk, and so do Narcissa and Hermione.


	5. Some to Throw, Some to Make a Diamond Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [my tears ricochet](https://youtu.be/OWbDJFtHl3w) by Taylor Swift

As Hermione climbed the many stairs up to the top box of the Quidditch stands – honestly, they could magic in and out of thin air but still no one had bothered to created a magical escalator – she hoped that Malfoy and Zabini’s idea of stacking the box with names Ernie would care about was not just a bunch of their former classmates. She knew the Weasley’s would be there of course, but things were still a little strained not to mention they were notoriously late for everything, and while Ernie had jumped at the chance to accept her invitation his conversation was a little tedious after a while.

The Up and Up annual charity Quidditch match was actually Charlie Weasley’s idea. In the year after the war he’d returned home with a guilt he couldn’t assuage. Having spent the majority of the war in Romania he spent a long time blaming himself for the losses his family suffered. It was only in pick-up Quidditch games with his family that he seemed to be a little like himself again. He’d said something like that to Hermione once, one summer at the Burrow a few years after the war and she’d offhandedly replied that she was sure many others felt the same. 

After talking to George he’d chosen April Fools Day as a way to honour Fred but keep the family busy too. And now in it’s ninth year the little event that started as a casual game with the Weasley’s plus some former Gryffindors in the back field of the Burrow was now a top-billed charity event held at Hogwarts with team sheets that were taken incredibly seriously. 

Of course, Hermione wasn’t thinking about that as she entered the box. She was thinking about how weird it was to be on her own, even though she always was in a sense at these events with Ron either on the starting team or a reserve but this was the first time she was there as just plain old Hermione Granger. Having a project helped alleviate those worries, it meant she wasn’t just there to watch Quidditch (thankfully) but to see if their assumptions about Ernie and his future bride were correct.

She glanced around to see if Ernie was there yet but didn’t see him. Instead she nodded to some Wizengamot members who were older than time and occupied the same four corner seats every year. The box – which only appeared for this game – was divided into three sections, seats at the front to better see the game, a standing area behind that if you wanted to talk and watch, or when all the children were younger somewhere they could runaround, and behind that a bar. While Hermione wasn’t usually one for day drinking, they’d all long decided that sporting events didn’t count. 

“Propping up the bar already Granger?” The familiar tones of Blaise Zabini called from behind her as she was deciding what to order.

“Seems like you had the same idea Zabini,” She smirked.

“Oh Hermione, it is glorious to see you. You look très charmante.” Gabrielle Delacour trilled walking over and kissing Hermione’s cheeks before leaning back to smile at her.

“Hello Gabi.” Hermione smiled.

Gabrielle, like her sister, had the kind of beauty that made you want to both stare straight at it and look away. Where Fleur had an etherial, almost shimmering beauty, Gabrielle’s was sharper, more striking and yet still as stunning. Standing in her pale grey robes, with her bright blue eyes and blonde hair tumbling in natural waves that other witches paid a lot of money to recreate Hermione did not feel charmante she felt rather plain.

“You know Blaise, yes?” Gabi asked, taking his arm.

They made a dramatic pair. Blaise was in russet brown robes which on anyone else would look ridiculous but only made him seem even more alluring, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked at Gabrielle.

“Yes, we work together occasionally,” Hermione confirmed.

“And went to school together but the less said about that the better hey Granger,” he smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to Gabrielle, “it’s so lovely to see you. Is Fleur coming too?”

“Of course. You know how she adores all these little family things her in-laws do,” Gabi replied dismissively.

“Granger, what are you having?” Blaise asked.

“Oh I’m not sure.”

“Come in on this Champagne with us then, everyone will scowl less if it’s three of us sharing,” Blaise drawled.

“Oh I don’t know,” Hermione demurred, “It’s a bit early for Champagne.” She glanced at her watch, twelve-oh-four exactly.

“Nonsense, Champagne is a breakfast drink.” Blaise grinned devilishly.

“It’s after one-oh-clock in Paris,” Gabi added with a smirk.

Hermione knew when she was beaten, the combined force of Gabi and Blaise’s stunning good looks smirking at her like she was in on the joke was too much, “Oh go on then.”

Hermione and Gabi were chatting, while Blaise was talking to a former colleague of his, when Bill and Fleur arrived with their daughter Victoire. The sisters automatically began speaking in rapid-fire French, while Gabrielle hugged her niece and tried to coax the thirteen-year-old into practicing her French.

“You good,” Bill pulled back from hugging Hermione to look at her. As with most things Bill said and did it wasn’t a question, more of a proclamation.

“I’m good,” Hermione smiled honestly.

“Of course she is,” Fleur interjected, kissing Hermione on both cheeks, “She is made of the strongest cœur as I have always said.”

Hermione blushed but said nothing. She had learnt long ago that if Fleur gave you a compliment you accepted it, otherwise she would list all the reasons she was right and you were wrong, ultimately embarrassing you further. She rarely complimented others so when she did she expected to be listened to.

“Where are the others?” Hermione asked Bill, knowing he would launch into a detailed update of where each member of the family was and who was playing, thus buying her some space.

Fleur looked amused but said nothing, simply squeezing Hermione’s hand before she turned back to her sister. Hermione would always feel a little lesser in comparison to Fleur but the other witch had long proven to be a loyal sister-in-law and friend.

The arrival of Theo and Venetia added to the volume and exuberance around the bar. There was an awkward moment when Venetia, who hadn’t been expecting to see her boss, was unsure how to behave. A moment soothed by the unlikely trio of Hermione, Blaise and Theo.

“Glass of champagne,” Blaise offered Venetia, who looked nervously at Hermione. Who simply lifted her own glass in a toast and smiled, “I’ve been told it’s a breakfast drink,” she smirked at Blaise. 

“Are you stealing my lines, oh Zabini I’m flattered and betrayed,” Theo whined dramatically.

As further introductions were made Blaise sidled up to Hermione and quietly asked, “Any sign of your guest?”

“No, but they might be out in the seats,” she replied quietly, before raising her voice so everyone else could hear, “I’m going to head out.”

“Good idea, we’ll join you. Mum’s probably arrived by now,” Bill said, sweeping out to the seats.

Bill squeezed her elbow as he made a beeline towards the usual family area where Molly and Arthur were sitting with Percy and his wife, and George whose own wife Angelina was playing in the match. Hermione smiled and gave a little wave but made no move to go over to them just yet. She was saved from having to do much of anything by the loud burst of laughter than came from Theo as he, Blaise, Venetia and Gabi came out of the bar chatting loudly behind Hermione.

“Oh, I should have known it would be you lot causing a disturbance.” The cool tone of Narcissa Malfoy said, as she and her sister Andromeda made their way into the standing area to say their hellos before taking their seats. While the tone was almost admonishing the small smirk and glint in her blue eyes gave away Narcissa’s mirth.

Hermione had had a few dealings with the Malfoy matriarch over the years but was still not entirely comfortable with her. In her charcoal robes and pale blonde chignon, the only colour the red of her lipstick, simply looking at Mrs Malfoy made Hermione feel both over and underdressed. It was quite a feat.

“I’m going to excuse myself from this I think,” Hermione smiled.

“Very wise Miss Granger, and for the record I was speaking to Theodore and Blaise who I know are likely responsible for any rabble rousing.” Narcissa replied.

“Us, we’ve done nothing. Haven’t raised any rabbles for yonks.” Theo sighed.

“It’s true. We’ve done nothing except notice how wonderful you’re looking Narcissa.” Blaise grinned.

“Tell us, how does time pass and yet you not age a day,” Theo twinkled at her.

Narcissa rolled her eyes fondly, “hello you two.”

As Theo and Blaise greeted Narcissa and introduced her to Gabi who she knew and Venetia whom she’d heard of but never met, Hermione made her way to Andromeda. The features that made her so similar to Bellatrix had softened with age and Hermione saw more resemblance to Sirius these days than she did to the mad Lestrange witch.

“How are you dear?” Andromeda asked softly hugging Hermione.

“I’m fine.” 

“Of course you are. And if you’re not you will be.” Andromeda told her firmly, “I was very sorry to hear the news.”

“Yes, I received your owl. Thank you. It was terrible form of me to not reply but it was all a little overwhelming.” Hermione admitted.

“No reply was needed, I just wanted you to know we were thinking of you.” 

“Where’s Teddy?” Hermione asked gracelessly changing the subject.

Andromeda accepted the subject change, “Riling up his godfather and cousin no doubt. He told me he wanted to see the teams before they went out but I’m almost certain he’s just gone down there to tell Harry that Draco is the better flyer and vice versa. He really is like his mother in that way.”

Hermione laughed, she could well imagine it. Teddy Lupin at fifteen was making the most of the freedom the previous generation had lacked. At Christmas Harry had said he’d reminded him of the young Sirius he’d seen in memories. Hermione agreed he had charm but had recognised more than a little bit of his late mother, with the intelligence of his late father too. 

“Terribly sorry to interrupt, but has my sister mentioned we’d like to pick your brains on something for the Manor Project?” Narcissa asked coming over to the pair.

“No ‘Cissa, I was catching up like a normal witch, not networking like a Malfoy.” Andromeda teased.

“Oh hush, it’s not networking. It’s merely discussing business-adjacent matters in a casual setting,” Narcissa fired back smugly at her sister.

Hermione laughed, “No she hasn’t mentioned anything but I’d be happy to help if I can. However I see my guests, could we catch up another time?”

“Of course dear, go and enjoy your day. We’ll be in touch.” Andromeda smiled and squeezed Hermione’s shoulder.

“Andromeda, Mrs Malfoy,” Hermione smiled her goodbyes as she made her way over to where Ernie and his date had arrived.

“Sorry, sorry. Hope we’re not terribly late, got a bit caught up if you know what I mean.” Ernie grinned, while his date blushed up at him.

Hermione, who knew exactly what Ernie meant, chose to ignore that and said, “Nonsense. The match is still a few minutes from starting. Do you want a drink?”

“We’re fine for now.” Ernie replied without even asking his date.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead turned to the pretty brunette next to Ernie, “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Hermione Granger.” She held out her hand.

The witch shook the outstretched hand but it was Ernie that spoke, “Oh of course you’ve not met. This is Freya, my fiancée.”

“Lovely to meet you.” Hermione smiled. 

“What ya doing Auntie H? The match is about to start,” a breathless Teddy exhaled as he whirled into the box behind Ernie and Freya.

“Sorry love, we’re just going to our seats.” Hermione replied accepting the brief but tight hug from Teddy as he went to join his Grandmother and Great Aunt, who were in the row behind Blaise and Theo, and shortly Hermione.

As Hermione, Ernie and Freya made their way over to front row of seats she saw that there had been some very clever manoeuvring done in the way they were all sat. Theo was on one end, with Venetia next to him, Blaise next to her and Gabrielle next to him. Which meant etiquette dictated Ernie had to sit next to Gabi with Freya on his other side and because Hermione was on her own, conveniently for once, she simply had no choice but to sit next to Freya.

As they took their seats, Hermione glanced at Blaise who gave an almost invisible nod.

“Right, who wants in? Draco’s team to win but Potter gets the snitch.” Theo proposed.

“Yeah, I’ll get in on that.” Blaise grinned.

“Nah. I’ve seen the team sheets,” Teddy interrupted leaning forward, “Wood’s playing Keeper for Harry’s team. Not a chance cousin Draco’s chaser’s will get past him even with Ginny and Angelina.”

“Hmm that’s worth considering,” Venetia mused. At Hermione’s sharp glance, “I like Quidditch, I was a Ravenclaw chaser and we won the house cup.” 

Hermione considered her assistant in a new light as she saw Theo beam down at her.

“Yeah, so I say Harry’s team to win because he catches the snitch.” Teddy adds.

“You will say nothing young man. Gambling is for bookmakers and reprobates, not fifteen-year-olds.” Andromeda admonished pulling a grumpy looking Teddy back into his seat.

“Does that make us reprobates?” Blaise considered idly.

“Do not ask questions you do not want the answers to Mr Zabini,” Andromeda deadpanned.

Everyone laughed as the voice of Lee Jordan came over the speakers. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Witches and Wizards, and Headmistress McGonagall, welcome to the ninth annual Up and Up Quidditch tournament.”

As Lee announced the teams Hermione began trying to engage Freya in conversation, “so are you a Quidditch fan?”

The process was as slow as the match, which Hermione was not following beyond the scoreline as usual. For every question Freya answered Ernie would answer at least two others on her behalf. By the time the teams paused to switch ends, Hermione was convinced that something was up with the young witch. She hadn’t left Ernie’s side, not even when the other witches went to get more drinks. She was constantly entwined around him, and every answer she gave for herself she found a way to link back to Ernie.

It wasn’t a love potion, of that Hermione was certain, it was too nuanced for that and she certainly wasn’t imperioed. It was almost as is she was really in love, but that the act of it had made her lose her own agency. Hermione had briefly wondered if she was just an insipid, dull witch, but something in the way she fawned over Ernie made her think this wasn’t Freya’s true nature. It was beginning to annoy Hermione that she couldn’t work out how or why, she knew she it was some kind of charm but the magic involved to convince another of feelings this consistently was far beyond Ernie’s skill level. The game had been going on close to four hours at this point and Freya was as constant in her adoration as she had been at the start. No, this was not a charm Ernie was controlling. 

In the end it was an overheard snippet of conversation between Gabi and Theo that made the connection in her mind, “Your Venetia is lovely, très belle.” “Yeah, she’s pretty special.” “Well I know an adorable jeweller in the 19th if you’re in the market for a ring that is one of a kind,” Gabi teased.

Hermione didn’t hear Theo’s answer. That was it. The ring. She looked down at Freya’s hand where a huge diamond cluster ring shaped like a flower atop a yellow-gold band perched on Freya’s ring finger. Almost every time she’d spoken to Freya where Ernie hadn’t interrupted he’d been lightly playing with the engagement ring, twirling it around. It was a gesture Hermione had thought was unconscious but now she wasn’t sure. In fact, when Ernie wasn’t playing with the ring Freya was almost drawn to it herself.

The ring was a little gaudy for Hermione’s taste but that didn’t matter right now. Leaning forward she said, voice a little louder than usual, “Oh Ernie I’ve just seen Freya’s ring. Is it a family piece? If not you have excellent taste,” she flattered. 

As Ernie demurred that it was in fact a family piece Hermione, who now knew she’d got Blaise’s attention, said, “Freya you must be delighted. The ring is charmante, as Gabi would say.”

Blaise’s eyes shot down to the ring and knowing that he had picked up her meaning, but not wanting to rattle Ernie, Hermione changed the subject leaning back to Teddy and asking, “Teddy love, what’s the score. I haven’t been paying the slightest bit of attention.”

“Ugh, Auntie H,” Teddy groaned before launching into a complicated retelling of the match so far as Hermione knew he would.

*

The coffee shop Hermione sat in wasn’t one she’d been too before. Not far from the Ministry, firmly on the Muggle side, she’d seen it on the occasional days she’d wanted a breather from all things wizard and had taken a walk around London. 

Now she was inside it was much as she’d expected, bare brick walls and steel table tops, hinting at an industrial heritage was all the rage these days even when, or especially when, the place was brand new. But, her coffee was good and more importantly it was neutral. Neither Hermione nor Ron had any connection to the place and if today’s meeting went badly it wouldn’t ruin their memories.

They were meeting to discuss all things divorce and separation. All the emotionless logical things, in theory. Originally the plan had been to meet at the end of the month, but Hermione had asked that they meet sooner, she wasn’t sure she could leave emotion behind logic if she’d had to wait any longer. 

It would have been fine had Fleur not caught her last week after the Quidditch match as they were heading to the annual post-game celebrations at the Three Broomsticks. Hermione had been walking with everyone, safe in the knowledge it would be so busy when they arrived that she could duck out without anyone noticing, but Fleur had caught her just as they got to Hogsmeade.

“Hermione, you know I’m not one for idle gossip,” Fleur had said catching Hermione’s arm and slowing, ostensibly to look in the window of Gladrags. 

Hermione nodded, she did know that. Fleur loved actual gossip but she wanted facts and confirmations, she considered playground rumours beneath her.

“And I wouldn’t zay anything if I did not care.” Fleur added, her accent becoming more pronounced when she was animated.

“I know.” Hermione replied, trying to ignore the small knot appearing in her stomach.

“A girlfriend of mine from school now lives in Switzerland and she saw Ron with another woman,” Hermione blanched and Fleur continued quickly, “They were not intimate but clearly close according to Stephanie.”

Hermione nodded, suddenly very interested in the high heeled gold shoes in the window that looked like they had vines creeping up them.

“I asked around quietly, and Ron was in Switzerland for work. Auror business. The woman with him was his partner. Madeline.” 

“Maddie.” Hermione confirmed at the same time.

When Fleur had said it the name sounded lyrical and beautiful, from Hermione it was just flat.

“You know her?” Fleur asked shaprly.

“Ron has been partnered with Maddie, Madeline,” Hermione couldn’t stop the derision creeping in when she said the name, “for almost a year. He mentions her a lot. Or he did.”

Fleur turned and gave her a measuring look, “I am not zaying that he is doing anything wrong or bad. But, if it were me,” she paused, “I would want to know all zee facts.”

“Thank you.”

“You are stronger zan you think you are Hermione Granger.” Fleur said firmly before kissing her on both cheeks, “Go, I will pretend I’ve seen you inside and then make excuses.”

Hermione had done what she was told in more ways than one. After owling Ron to see if they could meet earlier, she’d spent the week finding out if her suspicions were correct. There was nothing for her to do on the pureblood case with Malfoy and Blaise claiming they were looking into her latest findings and with no evening plans, she’d been able to find out more about Madeline. Nothing that proved she and Ron were an item or had been sneaking around behind her back, but enough circumstantial evidence that if he were to try the Pureblood divorce nonsense, she’d be able to string him up even before going to Nott.

Hermione twirled a curl around her finger as she waited for Ron. She’d been early, wanting to get a seat and not have to worry about any awkward greeting and of course, he was late. 

“Hello,” Ron smiled sheepishly knocking the table to get her attention, “sorry I’m late. I still get manage to go the wrong way down Old Compton Street.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, Ron’s sense of direction had never been great no matter how many times they went to muggle London.

“No problem.”

“Do you want a drink?”

“I’ve got one thank you.” She smiled.

Ron nodded and went to the counter to order his own coffee. Hermione watched him from below her lashes. He still looked the same, still her Ron. Comfortable in his height now, he wore it well no longer the gangly boy she could still conjure up if she closed her eyes. In his dark blue jeans and blue and white striped shirt he looked like every other muggle, albeit one slightly under dressed for April.

“How’ve you been?” Ron asked as he sat down.

“Oh you know, busy with work.”

“I didn’t see you last week. After the match.”

Hermione shrugged, “You know how busy the Three Broomsticks gets. You can barely see anyone in that place.”

“True. And Gin was really making the most of having babysitters, so was pretty rowdy.”

“Sounds like your sister.” Hermione smiled.

“Bill said he saw you in the top box sitting with the snakes.” His tone was light and teasing but Hermione was suddenly furious. 

“Well, I could hardly sit with your family could I?” She snapped.

“I didn’t-”

“And besides, they are ministry colleagues as you well know. Don’t you think it’s time we put school rivalries behind us.”

“You know I do.” Ron soothed, “I’m sorry ‘mione I wasn’t thinking.”

They both stiffened at the use of the nickname.

“Bloody hell, this is hard.” He huffed, running his hand through his hair the tips of his ears turning pink. 

Hermione’s ire died down, it was hard and losing her temper wouldn’t help either of them.

“It is. So why don’t we just get the awkward stuff out of the way.”

Ron nodded. Hermione expected to have to take charge, but not for the first time he surprised her.

“Percy put me in touch with some ministry bloke he knows that said it should be pretty straightforward to split everything down the middle. He suggested we sell both places but if you want to stay in the flat we can work something out.”

“Right, yes. That’s the advice I got too.” Hermione replied cautiously, “sounds quite sensible from a friend of Percy.”

Ron rolled his eyes, “Yeah he was alright once he actually listened to me. He wanged on about some pureblood law first but I told him he was barking up the wrong tree. Everything we have we’ve done together. Being a pureblood didn’t matter to me then it’d be pretty shitty if I suddenly decided to care now.”

Hermione let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, “Well, quite.”

He glanced at her, his blue eyes narrowing slightly and Hermione was reminded that when Ron wasn’t being the idiot boy she’d fallen in love with he could be quite a shrewd man. But he said nothing further.

“I do love the flat,” Hermione hurried out, “But I suppose we should get valuations and go from there. No point staying in it if I can’t afford it.”

“You want to handle that then? Muggle and Magical like last time?” He added the last bit at a lower tone.

“Of course.” 

As both properties were technically in Muggle areas, they had to offer Muggle viewings and get Muggle valuations too. Hermione didn’t mind handling it, she quite enjoyed that side of things.

They talked logistics and Hermione could feel the pressure lessen, but then another pressure started to build. He was still Ron, still her best friend and man she loved and looking at him like this, laughing about some thing that Harry had done she could see that for someone else he would make a great prospect. 

“Do you want another?” He asked.

“Uh, no. I’m ok.” Hermione fumbled, “I should probably get on. It’s a Saturday after all, I’m sure you’ve got plans.”

“Nah, nothing special.”

“Um Ron, can I ask you something?”

Hermione took her hands from the table and balled them in her lap, willing herself to stay calm and neutral. After all, she didn't really know anything was happening.

“Of course.”

“When the time comes that you move on or I move on,” she added carefully, “lets be respectful of each other.”

“What do you mean?” He looked confused.

What she meant was if you’ve been shagging other witches behind my back I’ll kill you. 

What she said was, “I mean, we’ve been together such a long time and our lives are intertwined so it stands to reason that if we see other people friends would know.”

He nodded, but said nothing.

“And I’m not saying you need to tell me every time you date, Merlin forbid, but don’t make a fool out of me.”

“I wouldn’t-” he began but she cut him off.

“Don’t let me be the last to find out something. Don’t make me look stupid.”

“No one could make you look stupid.” He smiled.

“I mean it Ron. I’ll do the same for you. Don’t let this,” she gestured between them, “us, be turned into something it wasn’t.”

“I won’t.” He promised, “If there’s something you should know, I’ll tell you. I swear.”

“Same.” She agreed. “I should let you get on with your day then.”

“Right.”

They both stood at the same time and made their way outside, the sun was bright in the sky but the wind was still biting. Hermione pulled her jacket around her.

“Bye then,” she said at the same time Ron asked, “Should we hug?”

“Uh, I guess.” She shrugged, before stepping into Ron’s waiting arms. The hug was brief and awkward and they both knew it.

“I’m this way,” Ron said turning the back of his neck still a little pink.

“I’m this way,” Hermione echoed intentionally pointing in the opposite direction.

They both smiled softly. Hermione gave a little wave and turned before it could get anymore awkward.

As she walked away she wondered at the capacity of humans to feel simultaneously better and worse. Ron hadn’t been cruel and terrible as she’d known in her heart he wouldn’t be, but he wasn’t her Ron anymore. Whatever had been there had gone. So why didn’t that make her feel better?

*

When Narcissa Malfoy looked back on her life so far she concluded that she had made three irreparable mistakes. 

Mistake one – confusing tradition with loyalty and not seeing blood purity extremism for what it really was, an excuse to gain power through murder and torture. Some of the blame for that one could be laid at the feet of Lucius who, despite being chosen for her by her parents, was the love of her life and so confident in his beliefs. Yet, she had chosen to go along with it. She hadn’t spoken up when the casualties mounted under the Dark Lord, she hadn’t truly apologised when he died the first time, so yes, that was her mistake.

Her second mistake was not moving the whole family to France at the end of Draco’s third year when all signs pointed to the rise of the Dark Lord again. She’d believed, wrongly as it turned out, that if he did come back he’d be chastened. That it would be less about zealous beliefs and more about power. So that was mistake two – staying when they should have gone.

Mistake three was the one Narcissa would never forgive herself for and that was letting Draco take the Dark Mark. True, the only was she could have stopped that was death, hers or Draco’s probably both and losing him was always a risk she was not willing to take. But maybe she should’ve taken a play from Lily Potter’s book and died to save him. Though she’d had her doubts it would’ve made a difference at the time, his views were what they’d fed him. It didn’t matter though, he took the mark, she didn’t stop it and she’d never truly forgive herself. So that was mistake three – not protecting her son.

These weren’t the only mistakes Narcissa had made in her life, if she were to list every one not a parchment or pensieve could hold them all. But they were three that stood out. The three that changed everything. And so now, she was a little more cautious than she had been, a little more shrewd. Narcissa didn’t let others lead her anymore, not even Lucius who had always led in public even though she’d ruled the home. 

Narcissa couldn’t help but muse on all this as she as she secured the final pin in her chignon and checked her pale rose lipstick one last time before the meeting with Hermione Granger. She wasn’t a fool she knew her son had suggested the muggle born witch as a replacement for that dolt Finch-Fletchley for a reason, she just wasn’t sure what that reason was. With Draco it could be anything, he could feel there was a debt to be paid. He could want to annoy someone. He could simply have thought it the right thing to do for the Project as well as garnering good press. Either way, there was a reason. Her son rarely did something purely for the sake of doing it, he was definitely his father’s son in that regard.

She made her way to the Floo in the foyer of the cottage, where her and Lucius lived now since moving out of the Manor, sprinkled some floo powder and stepped through to the sun room at the Manor. The sun room doubled as a meeting room when required and was a more informal place than the main office. Andromeda and Narcissa had both agreed informal was the way to go for this particular meeting.

Narcissa was checking on the tea set prepared by the elves when Andromeda and Miss Granger entered the room. She turned to smile at them, taking in her sister’s deep navy robes over sleek trousers and a crisp white shirt. Narcissa recognised the casual elegance, Andromeda had come dressed to impressed. Miss Granger on the other hand wore a black cloak over what appeared to be a muggle outfit. An interesting choice that Narcissa chose not to comment on.

“Miss Granger, so glad you could make it.” Narcissa smiled, “Hello ‘dromeda.”

“‘Cissa.” Andromeda smiled, greeting her sister, “Hermione was just saying how light the Manor feels on such a unseasonably bright day.”

Hermione blushed a little, “Forgive my impertinence but I always half expect to step into Malfoy Manor not the Manor Project each time I visit.”

“Not impertinent at all,” Narcissa allowed, “You’ve only been here a handful of times for functions and the like I do believe.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Tea, Hermione?” Andromeda asked.

“Yes, please.”

“Take a seat.” Narcissa said, gesturing to a blue and white striped high back chair, around a low table.

The three witches made pleasant small talk about Teddy, and the latest gossip (Celestina Warbeck had been apparently lying about her age, something none of the witches gathered were shocked by).

“I appreciate you’re a busy woman, so I’ll get right to the point,” Andromeda began, “We’re looking for a new volunteer to help with Muggle Magical integration at the Manor Project.” 

The sisters had decided that because Andromeda had a prior relationship with Hermione that didn’t include her son terrorising the witch for six years at school or her being tortured in the drawing room of the house it was probably best if she made the proposal.

“And you thought of me?”

“Yes. Hermione, we’ve been friends for a while now so I’m going to be frank with you,”

“Andromeda in the entire time I’ve known you you’ve never been anything but,” Hermione laughed.

“Well, quite.” Andromeda sniffed, “We currently have Mr Finch-Fletchley, working with our children on MMI classes but he’s not getting through to them as well as we hoped. His manner is a little,” she paused searching for the right word.

“Pompous?” Hermione suggested, suppressing a smile.

“I was going to say stuffy, but pompous would suffice,” Andromeda agreed with a small smirk.

“A lot of the children we have here are young, as you know none of them are older than Hogwarts age and the youngest muggleborns are ten.”

“Yes, I’d heard you’d requested to be allowed to speak to muggleborns younger than that. I saw the Integration Bill.”

“That’s right, you were one of the sponsors,” Narcissa cut in as this was something she just remembered rather than a path they’d been hoping to lead the conversation down.

“Oh yes, I’ve long thought introducing muggleborn children to magic when they turn eleven is nonsense. After all in my case that meant I had a whole school year to come to terms with the idea I was different, whereas Harry had a matter of months before starting Hogwarts.”

“I’m not sure you can blame preparation for the difference in yours and Harry’s study ethic.” Andromeda teased with familiarity.

“No,” Hermione allowed with a smile, “But it does seem a rather flawed system.”

“It is. Although not one we’ve asked you here to help with.” Andromeda replied.

“You don’t want my help on a new integration bill then? I assumed that was what this was about.” Hermione mused.

“Not quite. We’d like for you to consider taking over from Finch-Fletchley and tutor the Manor children in Muggle Magical Integration.”

“I’m sorry? You want me to teach children?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes” Andromeda confirmed.

“As I’m sure you’re aware the Manor Project isn’t a school. It was conceived instead as a safe place, a home for children who were orphaned or displaced by the war. The idea was that these children would be brought up with a roof over their heads, their financial needs taken care of and that we would be able to provide a similar education to that magical children receive before going to Hogwarts or further afield.” Narcissa explained.

Hermione nodded, she was aware of the Manor Project since it’s inception, though she hadn’t been involved first hand.

“It has grown since then. We now take not only children orphaned by the war but children whose families reject them for being magical, often those with only one magical parent. And as you know for the last year and half we have been working closely with the ministry and muggle government to take ten year olds who have displayed unusually strong magical ability resulting in multiple cases of accidental magic.”

“Yes, I didn’t personally work on the legislation around the statue of secrecy though it did pass across my desk so I’m aware it was a complex undertaking.” Hermione acknowledged.

“It was. But it was the right thing to do.” Andromeda said.

“So what is it that you would need from me?” Hermione asked.

“Currently Mr Finch-Fletchley gives us a couple of days a month to work with the muggle born students to discuss any issues that may arise when they start Hogwarts. I’m sure there were many things you were unclear of yourself,” Hermione nodded as Andromeda continued, “and he makes sure that these issues are explained as best as possible.”

“If you will permit me to be as frank as my sister,” Narcissa said, placing her tea cup delicately her the saucer on the table, she waited for Hermione to nod before continuing.

“It is no secret that my family’s understanding of muggles and muggleborns was lacking and damaging to many because of that, part of the the goal of this Project is to stop that from happening again. At the moment Finch-Fletchley just discusses what the children can expect when they go to Hogwarts but we envision it to be more than that, a proper integration.” Narcissa explained bluntly.

“I’m flattered you thought of me but it sounds like a large commitment and I already have a full time job.” Hermione demurred.

“We’re well aware of the demands on your time Hermione and we wouldn’t want to pressure you into giving up more of it but, as my sister said, this is something we believe in and no longer believe Finch-Fletchley to be right for. Perhaps you would be able to suggest other names that would be a better fit?” Andromeda asked.

Hermione considered the request. She had worked with enough Slytherin’s and spent enough time with Andromeda to know that they had dangled thing in front of her partly because they believed it to be right for the Project but also because they knew she’d struggle to refuse.

“I can certainly suggest some names, but to be clear what you’re looking for is someone to commit some time each week-”

“It would not necessarily have to be weekly, we could be flexible.” Narcissa interrupted.

“To commit some time to work with muggle born students the year before they go to Hogwarts to prepare them for the magical world.”

“Yes, but also to work with the Manor children to prepare them to integrate with muggle borns. And eventually we would like to have a program for ten and eleven year old children regardless of parentage or status that they come to here at the Manor once a month the year before they go to school. It would cover magical and non magical integration. After all, I’m sure there were elements of our society that you found baffling when you arrived at Hogwarts.” Andromeda finished.

“There still are,” Hermione glowered thinking of the Pureblood marriage law. She shook her head with a small smile, “sorry, lots going on at the moment.”

“Of course, we understand you’re busy. My current thinking is that this would be a day of your time each month and perhaps an additional evening or two closer to the start of term. I know it’s a large ask and I know that you already juggle a lot but I’ll be honest Hermione you’re not just our first choice, you’re currently the only choice we’re considering.” Narcissa declared.

“I’m incredibly flattered, but I’m not sure it’s right to take on a project with children while I have other demands on my time.” Hermione told them honestly.

“We understand,” Andromeda said sincerely taking Hermione’s hand, “May we ask you to consider it. If you cannot commit your time to it we do understand but we would love your suggestions for other candidates and of course any curriculum details you think we should consider.”

“I can certainly do that.” Hermione smiled brightly, already thinking of the things that had baffled her when she entered the magical world, “I’ll put an owl together with suggestions.”

“Well, now business has been dealt with let’s finish our tea and have some of these delicious pastries, unless you have a prior engagement?” Narcissa smiled.

Hermione accepted another cup, and the individual lemon tart Narcissa offered, and the conversation once again moved on to lighter topics. 

“This has been lovely, but I must get going. I’ll owl some ideas over to you this weekend before I forget,” Hermione said genuinely as she stood.

Narcissa and Andromeda did the same and the three women made their way to the large doorway to the main house but were stopped from going any further by Draco and Theodore in their path.

“Granger? What are you doing here?” Draco demanded confused.

“Draco! I know I raised you better than that.” Narcissa admonished.

“Sorry mother,” Draco grinned looking like a boy again and kissing his mother on the cheek, before turning to Hermione and smirking, “Miss Granger, what a pleasant surprise.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Malfoy. Mr Nott.”

“I think you can call me Theo at this point, we watched Quidditch together Granger, that’s sacred.” Theo teased after he’d said his hello’s to Narcissa and Andromeda.

“Hmm yes, nothing to do with you being hopelessly enamoured with my assistant and trying to stay on my good side,” Hermione smiled.

“That she thinks highly of your opinion is neither here nor there.” He answered loftily.

Everyone else laughed lightly.

“I was expecting to see Theodore but you are a pleasant surprise Draco,” Narcissa said, tucking her arm through her son’s as they walked back the way the boys had just entered, “Did we have lunch plans darling?”

“No, I had brunch with Theo and Venetia when he mentioned he was coming here and I remembered father had asked for my help calibrating the new brooms.”

“Did he now?” Narcissa smirked, “How very generous of you to give up your time.”

“Oh you know me.” Draco drawled.

“Yeah, selfless Malfoy that’s what they call you pal.” Theo laughed.

Draco half-heartedly glared at him as the others laughed. As they came to the end of a long corridor that branched off in two separate directions, Narcissa dropped her son’s arm and said, “Darling, will you escort Hermione to the floo before you go and find your father. We need to catch up with Theo in the office.”

“Of course mother.”

“Thank you for your time today Hermione,” Narcissa smiled, taking the younger witch’s hand, “Do think about what we said, won’t you.” 

“I will.” Hermione promised.

“Lovely to see you dear girl. If you want to talk about any of this further, you know where we are. Send over those thoughts of yours and do consider our offer if you can.” Andromeda said, pulling Hermione into a swift hug.

“I will.” Hermione repeated.

“Miss Granger,” Theo nodded.

“Theodore.” She replied with a nod and a smile.

Theo offered his arms to Narcissa and Andromeda who rolled their eyes but tucked their hands in his elbows as the three of them made their way away from the main foyer and down another corridor.

“You really don’t have to escort me,” Hermione said turning to Draco, “It’s only through there.”

“I was told to escort you and escort you I shall.” He shrugged, “Besides, what is this offer that mother and my aunt desperately want you to consider?”

“Oh it’s nothing really,” Hermione replied.

Draco arched one eyebrow as he looked down at her.

“Fine, they want me to take over from Justin Finch-Fletchely and help with muggle magical integration.” 

“And you don’t want to?” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to but I don’t like to commit to things unless I can do them properly,”

“Granger, I promise you that a teaspoon of your commitment would be better than that Fletchley twat.” Draco interrupted.

She rolled her eyes, “You think he’s a moron so that’s hardly a high bar.”

“I do, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” 

Hermione sighed, “It’s just that my life is in a bit of a flux right now and I wouldn’t want to commit to anything unless I could really give my all. This could be a program of real change. Your mother and aunt had some ideas and I’ve already thought of a few things too and done well it would make a huge difference but I worry…” she trailed off remembering herself with a blush, “And you don’t need to know any of this.”

“I asked.” He shrugged.

“Yes, well, that’s what the offer was. To help out here.”

“Look, I’m not involved with the project so this is my entirely uninformed opinion.”

“Oh good, my favourite kind,” Hermione quipped dry.

He smirked at her but continued, “You could do this role in your sleep. You have in fact spent your whole life straddling the muggle and magical worlds even when people like me and mine made that rather dangerous for you,” 

“You’ve said sorry.” She interrupted, but he waved her off.

“Granger, you are not only the logical choice for this role, but you’re the best one and my mother does rather like things to be the best. My aunt too for that matter though she’s a little subtler about it. If you want this I’m sure you can find a way to make it work for you and if you don’t think you can commit to it, then don’t. I would bet my ministry salary that any bossy, know-it-all suggestion you have will be gratefully received whether you’re involved in the actual teaching or not.”

“Thank you. Although that lovely speech was somewhat undercut by the fact you managed to insult me twice.”

“I did not.”

“Bossy know-it-all.”

“Technically I would call those statements of fact. And further more it’s one thing, one and half at most. Plus I also said you’re the best choice.” He argued, before adding with a smirk, “Learn to take a compliment Granger.”

“Oh yes, sorry my mistake.” Hermione deadpanned.

“It happens to the best of us.” 

Hermione laughed and grabbed some floo power from the jar they were now in front of on the mantle. 

“Bye Malfoy.”

“Granger.” He nodded as she disappeared into a whirl of green flames.

*

_Dear Narcissa and Andromeda,_

_Please forgive my delay in responding to your offer, I assure you tardiness is not one of my usual flaws. In fact, I wrote up a list of names and recommendations (please see the other parchment) to send to you the very same day I left the meeting at the Manor, but for some reason I couldn’t quite send the owl._

_At first I thought it was because while all the names are excellent none were quite perfect, take Lucy Abbott for example she’s a smart witch and a clever woman but can be a little skittish, which I imagine is not great when dealing with pre-teens. Or Nathanial Witter, a clever wizard top of his year I do believe, but his sister is married to Dennis Creevy who has not ever truly moved past the events of the war. While I’m sure it wouldn’t be an issue for Nathanial (he really is a strong choice, I wouldn’t have included him otherwise), it kept me from sending this right away._

_Which brings me to now, the more I deliberate on this the more I’m not sure I want to see anyone else do this role – which I’m sure was your intention when you first mentioned it. Of course if you no longer want me for the role, or we can’t make schedules align, then as I say the names I’ve included would all be excellent. But if the offer still stands I would be delighted to work with you both at the Manor Project teaching Muggle Magical Integration._

_All the best,_   
_Hermione Granger_

_p.s. I appreciate this note looks like brevity is not my strong suit, but I assure you I would not waste my limited time with the children each month. Professor Binns method of teaching is not one I aspire to._


	6. We Could Be Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the small but loyal following of readers, I can't tell you how much your comments mean to me.
> 
> Chapter title from [Friends](https://youtu.be/9aEnCUyDm2E) by Francis and the Lights

At precisely nine-thirty am Hermione apparated on to the top step of the address written on the note she'd received an hour before.

The door opened almost instantly and if she hadn’t already guessed the address belonged to Blaise – after all the owl and accompanying note was from him – the wizard himself letting her into a wood panelled snug cloak room with a bust of what looked to be a noseless Slughorn at the end would have tipped her off.

“Granger, good morning.” Blaise smiled as she stepped inside.

“Good morning Blaise.”

“Follow me, we can talk in the kitchen. Draco’s already in there no doubt crowding the coffee pot like the possessive child he is.” Blaise said, walking through a richly painted room and into the kitchen. “He is not a morning person.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Hermione replied following Blaise.

The kitchen was bright despite being in the basement. It was restrained by what Hermione considered to be Blaise’s standards. An eight oven Aga dominated one wall, while the main space of the kitchen was taken up by a large island, which is where she spotted an unhappy looking Draco perched on a high stool, his elbows on the wooden top. Even sleepy, and clearly unimpressed, he still managed to look refined in his pale grey jumper.

“Good morning!” She trilled, just to see a reaction.

“Hpmh.” Was the grunted response, but he did lift his coffee mug so Hermione considered it a start.

“Is there any tea?” Hermione asked Blaise.

“Of course, take a seat with sleeping beauty and I’ll bring some over. How do you take it?”

“Strong but with lots of milk please.” 

“Coming right up.” Blaise said turning his back to them to put the kettle on top of the stove. Hermione noted there was not an elf in sight.

“So, as lovely as it is to be awoken by a very demanding owl before sunrise, what’s going on?”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic it was after eight am.”

“You know Blaise, I really wouldn’t have pegged you for a morning person.” Hermione mused.

“I’m adaptable.” He shrugged. Draco snorted. “Besides, I saw Gabi last night, which is what we’re here to talk about, and the dinner ran late. You know those Europeans,”

“If that’s a euphemism I don’t want to know.” Hermione frowned, “Please don’t tell me you brought us here to tell us you’re sleeping with Gabi.”

“I’m not and I didn’t.” Blaise replied easily, “Though Granger, I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t but I was thinking if you and Gabi got together we’d be practically family and then I remembered we very much wouldn’t anymore,” she paused to smile at him, “so as you were.”

“I’m not sure what just went on in that head of yours but for the record, it was not a euphemism, those Europeans really do like a late dinner. Besides I like Gabi too much to sleep with her.”

Hermione opened her mouth, then paused and closed it, before opening it and then shaking her head, “you know what, I’m just gonna leave that one.”

“Wise Granger.”

“He speaks, it’s alive!” Blaise crowed dramatically.

Draco glared.

“As I was saying before that odd interlude, I didn’t think you’d appreciate a late night owl after Gabi had left. You strike me as an in bed-by-nine kinda witch.” Blaise smirked at Hermione, bringing over her tea and a jug of milk.

“Oh don’t be crazy, sometimes on a weekend I make it until ten.” Hermione fired back dry.

“You rebel you.” Blaise rolled his eyes.

“Actually I was babysitting for Ginny and Harry last night, so I was fast asleep on the sofa at Grimmauld by eight.” Hermione admitted.

Both Blaise and Draco laughed loudly.

“And I don’t need to ask where you were.” Blaise said sitting down and flinging a copy of the Sunday Prophet at Draco. 

Hermione who was sitting opposite Blaise on the same side of the table as Draco leaned towards him for a look at the front page he was unfolding.

The headline was on the latest troll scandal that had been causing chaos for weeks (DO TROLLS REALLY HAVE MORE FUN?) but in the next column over was a picture of Draco embracing a woman with light brown hair. It was a woman she thought she recognised, but Draco groaned and tossed the paper aside before she could see the picture properly.

“You really must stop antagonising your mother.” Blaise told Draco idly spooning sugar into his coffee, as Hermione sat back in her seat pulling the paper towards her.

“THIRD TIME LUCKY? Are things hotting up again between the Malfoy heir and Astoria Greengrass?” Hermione read the caption aloud, “Are they asking us or telling us.”

Blaise huffed out a small laugh.

“I’m obviously not one to offer relationship advice but I have to say if it didn’t work the first two times I’m not sure a third try will really make a difference.” Hermione mused.

“We’re not going out now and we didn’t go out twice.” Draco huffed.

“Well…” Blaise began.

“We tried going out after the war but I obviously wasn’t in a great place and was a pretty shitty boyfriend. They we had a no strings deal for a bit and now nothing. Not that it’s anyones business.” Draco huffed to Hermione with a frown, before turning to Blaise and pointing, “and you know I was not out with Tori.” 

“That’s how it looks.” Blaise shrugged.

“It’s bloody ridiculous. I was out with Pansy and Daphne to celebrate Daph being back in town, which you know considering you were invited,” He grumbled pointed at Blaise, “Tori was out with her latest Quidditch idiot boyfriend and we bumped into her and went for a nightcap. That,” he jabbed at the paper, “is a picture of us saying goodbye.”

“You know that’s not what it looks like and you know your mother will be on your case again. Why not just say goodbye in the restaurant?” 

“I could really live without the early morning lecture Zabini, I know you share a taste for interior design but you are not actually my mother.” Draco pouted.

“It does look very cosy,” Hermione considered the picture again, “But everything out of the Prophet is trash or based on half truths, so I really wouldn’t worry.” 

“I’m not worried,” Draco snapped.

“Clearly.” Blaise replied, arching an eyebrow.

“As glorious as it is starting the morning talking about my love life and my mother, can you get to the damn point of why we’re here at such an offensive hour. I assume it’s not because you had a pressing desire for tea and crumpets with me and Granger.” Draco grumbled.

“As charming as your company is, no.” Blaise deadpanned.

“Ohh crumpets,” Hermione grinned.

“Sorry Granger, out of crumpets. I can offer you toast.”

“Nah, never mind. I fancy crumpets now,” she scowled playfully at Draco who scowled back less playfully.

“Despite the lack of crumpets, shall we get on?”

Blaise drew his wand and vanished the newspaper before summoning a stack of photographs. 

“After your little hint at the Quidditch Gabi managed to corner Freya and chat about jewellery all while casting a little detection spell on the ring. It’s heavily warded. Gabi couldn’t find out anything without causing suspicion but she felt there was more than the usual protection spells,” Blaise told Hermione who hadn’t actually seen him in the weeks since the game. Draco nodded and Hermione assumed he already knew this bit.

“That was all I needed to start doing a little research of my own. When one of the German witches died the German ministry seized her possessions for an enquiry unrelated to our own,” Blaise said, pulling out a photograph of an impossibly young looking witch, wearing a brilliant smile and and staring lovingly at a rather hauty looking wizard. “It included this ring.” He added pointing to the large ruby surrounded by smaller jewels on the witches finger.

“Oof,” Hermione whistled looking at the ring.

“Eloquent as ever Granger.” Draco drawled.

Hermione scowled at him again, Blaise ignored them both and continued. “Our man in Berlin was able to get me access to the ring for twenty-four hours last week to do some quick calculations and there is definitely more than the usual security wards. I didn’t have enough time to uncover everything completely but I picked up a little confundus, definitely a modified love spell and some behavioural control thing I’ve never seen before.”

“I’ve got a team working backwards to see if they can recreate the full charms from the fragments I pulled.”

“Won’t that cause suspicion?” Hermione asked.

“I’m an Unspeakable overseeing a team of Unspeakables. It’s safe to say everything and nothing causes suspicion.” Blaise waved away lazily, at Hermione’s still unconvinced expression he added, “Not one of my team raised so much as a brow at the request. Spell reconstruction is pretty standard for us.”

“How can we be sure it wasn’t just a one off though? I know this guy, he’s an Evernight. Old German and English family, very involved in the dark arts. His Dad was one of Grindlewald’s biggest supporters.” Draco said, looking down at the picture.

“Hmm, it’s a good question.” Hermione added, “It would not shock me if his family vaults contained more than one piece of cursed jewellery.”

“Their speciality was coercion I believe, rather gifted at it too. Could make you believe everything you did was your idea.” Draco added grimly.

“He sounds like a real peach.” Hermione huffed.

“While I am pleased to see you’re following along, please afford me some credit,” Blaise drawled, “That already crossed my mind and technically it was a one off, to begin with. He was the first prominent pureblood to “marry down” as it were.” 

Hermione frowned but said nothing.

“My hunch is that this ring was one of a kind but that he passed the idea on to other families.” 

Blaise summoned hundreds more photographs.

“This is what Gabi and I were doing last night. Going through every announcement and image of the couples who have recently married and had babies before the wife either retired from public life or died. Plus some of the ones we have our own suspicions about. In almost all cases the ring is a family piece and is one large stone surrounded by other stones.”

He handed the images to Draco and Hermione. 

“And in practically every picture these witches, or their husbands, are in contact with the ring.”

“That’s not that unusual though, I used to fidget with my wedding band.” Hermione said absently glancing down at her now bare finger.

“In every picture?” Draco asked.

“Well, no. But it’s often an unconscious thing.”

“This doesn’t look unconscious though,” Draco replied sliding one of the images he was looking at to Hermione. The petite witch had her left arm through her husbands right arm, where it was bent at the elbow and he was holding her hand, but as Hermione looked closer it wasn’t her hand he was holding just the ring finger.

“That’s Elodie Joubert,” Blaise said looking down at the picture, “She died in childbirth about ten months after that image was taken.”

“Oh you poor thing,” Hermione said softly looking at the picture.

“Charming the rings is actually incredibly clever,” Draco mused, “All pureblood families have jewels that are passed down from generation to generation and even if a witch was well-versed in these things, which we know many of these women weren’t, it would be next to impossible to ascertain whether the charms on the jewel had always been in place and what all of them did.”

“But it only explains why they’re easily controlled once they’re engaged not before.” Hermione pointed out.

“I’ve been thinking about that. And I don’t think you’re going to like it.” Blaise told her.

“They’ve not been imperioed?” Hermione questioned horrified.

“No, I’m guessing they entered into these relationships willingly.” Blaise said.

“What do you mean?”

“It was meeting that little witch of Macmillian’s that made me think it.” Blaise began, “Her friends were positively charmed by every well-spoken Pureblood wizard with more than two Gaellons to rub together that they met that day."

“I’m afraid I’d come to the same conclusion,” Draco echoed, “A lot of these witches are young and didn’t live through the war in the same way, they didn’t see the polish come off the old families.”

“Not to mention a lot of these cases originally happened in France and German where Voldemort’s reach didn’t truly extend.” Blaise added.

“So you’re trying to tell me that these witches are so flattered by the attention of a pureblood wizard with a large vault and posh accent that they willingly date them.” Hermione huffed, wondering not for the first time just why witches didn’t have better feminist education.

“Yep.” Draco confirmed, “And if I have to guess further I’d say these wizards are a fucking delight until the ring is on the finger.”

“And by then it doesn’t matter.” Blaise agreed.

“That would explain the haste with which they all seem to get engaged,” Hermione considered, “And I suppose you pureblood lot do have some charm thanks to the ettiquette that has been drilled into you over the years,” she paused and added, “when you’re not being twats.”

“Thanks I think?” Draco smirked.

“Ok, so assuming the rings do control these witches that should be pretty straight forward to stop. We get the witch away from the wizard, get the ring off her finger and Bob’s your uncle.”

“Who is Bob?” Blaise asked.

“Certainly not my uncle. I had a Ted and Rodolphus.”

“My mother has no siblings and Salazaar only knows about dear old dad.”

“It’s a muggle saying that means there you have it. Or in this case job done.”

“Are all muggle men called Bob then?” Draco asked, “Because surely that would get confusing.”

“Yes, because then Bob would be your uncle and your dad and your brother and your husband.”

“No obviously they’re not all called Bob. Draco, your muggleborn uncle was called Ted,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “Shall we get back to the point?”

“Fine but I’d like to get back to Bob at some point. It’s rather confusing,” Blaise half teased.

“Agreed.” Draco matched with his own grin.

Hermione debated the merits of hexing them but decided it was unseemly, instead she sighed and said, “My point was, we get Freya away from Ernie, get the ring and save her from marrying him and potential death.”

“A win win I’d say.” Draco agreed.

“While Freya not marrying Macmillan and not dying is certainly the end goal, we can’t just go storming in.” Blaise said.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but Blaise held up a hand.

“It’s a theory so far. A strong one and probably the right one but as yet entirely untested.”

“Not to mention that Macmillan and his witch aren’t the only couple we have eyes on. If we go charging in wands blazing with him it will just send the others underground.” Draco added.

“We should at least get her away from him,” Hermione argued. “We could make something up to separate them. Or at least get Harry and some Aurors to pay Ernie a visit at home.”

“On what grounds?” Blaise questioned.

“I don’t know. Important ones.”

“Bloody Gryffindors, no subtlety.” Draco muttered intentionally loud enough for Hermione to hear. She scowled at him for the third time that morning, not that she was keeping count. “He’s the head of the Department of International Cooperation Granger, you can’t just send in the Aurors.”

“But-” she began.

“He’s not going to hurt her yet, if he ever does.” Blaise cautioned, “We have time. The wedding isn’t for a few months yet, June I believe. 

“Incredibly pedestrian but what do you expect.” Draco sighed.

“What’s wrong with a June wedding?” Hermione asked. The two men turned at once, with matching offended expressions. Hermione held up her hands, “You know what, forget I asked.”

“We’re coming back to that Granger. Along with Bob.” Draco promised.

“We need to give this time Hermione. I don’t want these witches in this situation anymore than you do, but this is dark magic and unscrupulous families we’re dealing with. We only have one chance to get it right.” Blaise reasoned.

“If we show our hand too early, without properly confirmed theories and knowledge, all of our leads will disappear and it will all be for nothing.” Draco added.

Hermione knew they were right but she wasn’t used to being the one not demanding more research and urging caution. It was unsettling to say the least.

“Can we at least speak to our foreign counterparts, get international cooperation?” Hermione suggested.

“I’m not sure I like that idea. Too many people involved could get messy.” Draco said.

“Not to mention the potential for leaks and other problems.” Blaise agreed.

“Fine, so what do we do?” Hermione demanded, “Surely not nothing.”

“We keep an eye on it. You and Draco see Ernie at work and can monitor things there and I know you’re not one for socialising but maybe if there are any events in the next few months where it wouldn’t be odd to invite Freya you do that.” Blaise said, directing the last part to Hermione.

“It’s something I suppose.” Hermione grumbled.

“I’ll keep looking into the charm work and Draco will keep an eye on the families overseas that we have concerns about.”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it Granger but this is actually a pretty significant step forward.” Draco said.

“I know,” Hermione sighed, “I just want to do more. I hate the idea of these witches stuck in this situation.”

“We all do. And we will end it, I’m sure of it.” Draco said sincerely, turning to look at her so she could see he was resolute. Hermione caught his eyes and nodded.

“I really want crumpets now.” Blaise sighed breaking the moment.

“This is why you should have an elf.” Draco pointed out, looking much happier and awake than he had an hour ago.

“I am not having this argument with you again,” Blaise sighed.

“We could make them but I’m not the best at cooking charms.” Hermione said.

“Hermione Granger not the best at something! Bob’s my uncle.” Blaise grinned.

“That is really not how it’s used,” Hermione laughed, “It’s Bob’s your uncle.” 

“We’ve been over this Granger, he very much is not.” Blaise argued with a grin.

“Who’s uncle is Bob?” Draco asked. 

“You’re right. That’s the real question is he some supreme being? Like, is he really everyones Uncle.”

Before Hermione could speak, Draco called out, “Masha.”

Hermione squealed at the pop of apparition as Blaise grumbled, “I have told you not to call your elves into my house.”

“You called Mister Draco.” The old elf asked, today wearing a fetching tea towel with what looked to be different types of dinosaurs on it.

“You couldn’t rustle us up a plate of crumpets could you?” Draco asked with a charming smile.

Blaise and Hermione shared a look and rolled their eyes.

“Of course.”

The elf popped away. In the time it took Blaise and Draco to argue over putting the kettle on, (“Put the kettle on Blaise, I fancy some tea with my crumpets.” “You do know this isn’t your sodding house.”) the elf was back with a tray baring a plate of fresh crumpets, a butter dish, three types of jam and honey.

“Thank you, this looks delicious.” Hermione told the elf politely.

“Masha made tea too.” The elf said, levitating a large tea pot and three mugs over to the table.

“Wonderful Masha, that will be all.” Draco said.

As the elf popped away, he turned to Blaise with a wide, smug smile and said, “You’re welcome.”

“I really don’t know why I’m still friends with you.” Blaise grumbled, but reached for a crumpet nonetheless.

“Lack of options?” Hermione suggested sweetly.

“Pfft,” Blaise huffed as Draco laughed.

“Right Granger, quit stalling,” Draco said, pouring a mug of tea - strong with lots of milk – and pushing it towards her, “Was Bob actually an uncle?”

Hermione laughed, and proceeded to tell them all about the etymology of the phrase Bob’s your uncle over tea and crumpets and many increasingly questions from the pair.

*

  
“The rules of your employment are ridiculous you know?” Hermione complained as she walked into Draco’s office. Marvin had given her his usual customary lack of acknowledgment. She quite enjoyed it at this point.

“I don’t disagree but do you have something specific to complain about or is this just general annoyance?” Draco smirked from behind his desk.

“Every time I want to talk to you about anything I have to come down to your office which, a- makes it look like I’m at your beck and call, and b- is annoying.”

Draco huffed out a laugh.

“Well now the terms of my Ministry role are a bother to the Golden girl I’m sure you can petition the Minister to change them.” He drawled.

“I’m petitioning no one,” Hermione sniffed, “I just wanted you to know it’s annoying.”

“Well aware Granger,” He smiled, “What brings you down to International?”

“Bit of an awkward one.”

Draco lazily swept his hand towards the chair opposite his desk.

“I’ve had a request from our German counterparts. Seems they want to make an arrest but our man in Berlin is stalling.”

Draco grimaced.

“Precisely. Obviously Dean doesn’t fall under my jurisdiction and I can’t tell the Germans who to arrest, or not arrest as the case may be, without sufficient grounds.”

“Grounds that you currently can’t explain.”

“Exactly.”

“Why did it come to you and not International?” Draco asked, idly tapping his quill on his parchment.

“Because it’s not cooperation, it’s Law Enforcement.” 

“Ah.”

“I can stall, obviously. I can delay and put diverting cases in front of the Germans but we’re going to run into this problem more and more. I think we need to get international cooperation.”

“I know you do.” Draco groaned, the reminder of their previous conversation not far from his mind.

“I know you don’t like it, but if nothing else this proves that we may not be able to keep this as quiet as we’d hoped.” She told him considering the conversation over and standing up, smoothing her robes.

Hermione had moved behind the chair, ready to leave when the whole room seemed to wobble.

“Did you feel that?”

Hermione held onto the back of the nearest chair to steady herself.

“Yeah, it felt like-” Draco began, his pale face paler than usual.

_“Attention. Attention. The Section Two Protocol is in place. Please follow instructions until the situation is resolved.”_

Draco looked at Hermione, “Section Two, that’s…”

“Magical lock down. Potential breach or suspicious activity. All departments will be impenetrable to using magic to get in or out.” She recited.

Draco was already walking over to his office door, he tugged on the brass handle and frowned as it remained steadfastly shut. “Alohamora,” he tried but nothing happened.

“What part of impenetrable to magic was unclear,” Hermione snarked, watching him try the door.

“Sorry Granger, thought it best to see if there was a glitch and we might not actually be stuck in here.”

“Section Two is pretty thorough, I should know, I drafted it.”

“So you know the loopholes.”

“There are none. It’s an incase-of-emergency type law, not just anyone can implement it. Something serious must be happening,” She frowned and worried at her lip. “I hope everyone is alright,” she added quietly.

“You mean Potter and your ex.”

“I mean everyone,” Hermione snapped, “just because you don’t value people doesn’t mean I don’t.”

“I value people,” Draco huffed sulkily.

There was silence as they both moodily avoided looking at each other. The snapping was reminiscent of their relationship from the start of the year not the cordial, almost friendly co-workers they’d become.

Draco broke it first, “so what do we do now?”

“Wait it out," Hermione sighed sitting back down in the chair she'd just vacated, "We could talk about the case I guess.”

“I don’t know what more there is to say,” Draco admitted. “Blaise is going to do his bit, I’ll update him on the German situation, but based on what we’ve learnt already we’re kind of at an impasse. Plus I know it’s just us in here but I don’t love the idea of discussing this here any more than we have.”

“That’s a fair point.” 

“How long does this protocol usually last?” Draco asked sitting back down in his desk chair.

“No idea. I think this is the first time it’s been put in place since it was approved. I drafted it after the war so that if we ever had another situation like last time where the Ministry was invaded people would be able to be safe.”

“And stuck.” Draco pointed out.

“Yes, I suppose,” Hermione tapped her lip with her pinky finger thoughtfully, "It might need some reworking." 

“Nothing you can do about it now,” Draco pointed out, before suddenly disappearing from view and rooting around in the bottom drawer of his desk.

He popped up triumphant, placing a bottle of Firewhisky on his desk, “I suggest we at least have a drink to pass the time.”

Hermione laughed at the look on his face, he was grinning like a school boy and his blonde hair had fallen in his eyes. He pushed it out of his face and scowled at her, “what’s so funny Granger?”

“You know you’re an adult, you can drink when you want.”

“I know,” he rolled his eyes, “but it always feels a little like sneaking a drink in the school common room when I drink at work.”

“I never did that at school.”

“Colour me surprised.”

“Ha ha.” Hermione muttered dryly.

Draco murmured a quick cleaning spell over a water glass on his desk and poured two fingers of the clear brown liquor into it, pushing it over to Hermione, “here you go.”

“Thank you. I don’t tend to drink this stuff stick to muggle drinks mostly, like wine.” She watched him down the dregs of his coffee, mutter a charm over the mug and pour his own generous measure.

“Needs must.” He smirked at her raised brow, “Cheers.”

Hermione raised her glass to meet his mug before taking a gulp of the whisky, frowning as she swallowed.

“This is a 12-year-old blend you’re wrinkling your nose at Granger,” Draco drawled.

“I told you I stick to muggle stuff. Why couldn’t you have had an excellent vintage Champagne hiding away.” She grumbled, her eyes twinkling to let him know she’s not serious.

“You know the first Champagne was actually made by a wizard.”

“Really? I thought it was a monk.”

“It was. A Benedictine monk who had left wizarding society because he couldn’t square his beliefs with his magic.”

“That’s fascinating. How do you know that?” Hermione asked curiously.

“My mother. She believes it’s important for a man to be well-rounded. Made me take etiquette lessons my whole childhood. Plus we have some Champagne vineyards in the family,” 

“Of course you do,” Hermione laughed before adding idly, “Any time I think your mother might not be terrifying I learn something new that reminds me she is just in a different way.”

“She’ll be thrilled with that. She lives to confuse people.” He grinned. “She told me you took the role with the Manor Project by the way.”

“I take it you’re not surprised.” 

“Not really. I knew that once Mother and Aunty A dangled it in-front of you you wouldn’t be able to resist. Which is precisely why they did it by the way.”

“Yes, I’d figured as much. I think if I juggle my time carefully then I’ll be able to dedicate more than a couple of hours a month. I looked over the notes from Justin and honestly, they’re rather lacking.”

“I’m shocked Granger.” Draco deadpanned.

“Well, building from what he had and then adding some extra bits won’t take too much of my time, so I think this lot will be fine with a few hours a month until they go to Hogwarts in September and then I said I’d sit down with your Mother and Andromeda and revaluate ready for the next set.” Hermione said, her words rushing away from her as she thought of all the progress she’d be able to make on a real level.

“Sorry, you probably don’t care that much.”

Draco smiled, “If I didn’t want to know about it I wouldn’t have brought it up.” 

Hermione smiled back softly. Draco was the first to look away. 

“How are you at crosswords?” He asked picking up the copy of the Daily Prophet and folding it to the back page.

“I can hold my own.”

“I’m sure,” He replied rolling his eyes, before picking up a quill.

They took turns trading off on answering the questions doing quite well with more than half filled in, when Draco said, “OK, 16 across. formal union, 8 letters. 

“Any letters?” Hermione asked.

“Space, A, something something something, something, G, something,”

After a pause Hermione answered with a depreciating sigh, “Marriage, I should know that one.” 

Draco filled in the letters letting the silence settle. He wanted to know more but didn't know if she’d talk about it with him. He settles for a less direct method than asking outright.

“Did you see Theo in the end?”

“I assumed you knew I did. He’s your pal isn’t he.”

“Yes,” Draco admitted, “But Theo takes client privacy pretty seriously.”

Hermione nodded to herself and Draco doesn’t feel too bad about manipulating the truth. After all Theo hadn’t told him details just that she’d been to see him and that the case would be huge if she went ahead with it.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Was it useful?”

“I suppose. I spoke to Ron and we’ve agreed a plan so I won’t need Nott’s help but you were right it’s always good to have options.”

“Do you know why I’m so interested in our external project?” She asked him after a beat.

“You hate inequality.”

“No.”

Draco scoffed, “Well, yes obviously. But it’s more than that. Did you know there’s a marriage law from the 1700s that’s still in place. It states that if a pureblood wizard marries someone of “lower blood status,”” She used her hands to quote the words, her firewhisky sloshing perilously in the glass, “the non pureblood is not entitled to keep any of their assets in the case of separation.”

“I’d heard something about that but no one uses it, we all have prenups and prenups on our prenups. Pureblood take marriage contracts seriously.”

“Not all of them.”

Draco has never been stupid. A bit slow sometimes, a little ignorant to facts and blind to what he doesn’t want to see, but never stupid.

“Granger, you don’t mean you and Weasley surely.”

“Yep.”

Draco is genuinely lost for words, which doesn’t happen to him often. Instead he tops up his mug and slides the bottle along to her.

“I don’t need to be concerned, he’s told me he would never do that and we’ve agreed to split everything down the middle, but I didn’t even know about it. That’s why I’m so determined to do the right thing by these women. I’m meant to be one of the brightest witches of my time and I didn’t know, I bet they won’t either. Who is advocating for them?”

“We are. We will stop this.” He told her fiercely.

“For what it’s worth I don’t think Weasley would fuck you over like that. He’s a moron obviously, but his family weren’t concerned with all that protection of wealth nonsense,” Draco told her sincerely, though he can’t help add, “largely because they don’t have any.”

She scoffed but tilted her head to look at him, brown eyes meeting serious grey ones, “Thank you.”

Hermione reached over and took the crossword from Draco, reading out the next clue, “Broom maker, 6 letters. Leonard –”

“Jewkes.” Draco replied instantly.

“Can’t be, starts with a T according to what we have so far.”

“Nope, it’s Jewkes, he created the Silver Arrow brooms, my grandfather swore by his designs.”

“Bollocks,” She groaned, throwing the paper over to him. “We’re going to have to start again.”

About an hour has passed and they’re sitting on the floor now, backs to the wall the bottle of firewhisky between them. Crossword forgotten in favour of slowly working their way through the firewhisky and reading the sections of the paper they normally avoid (Society for Draco, Sport for Hermione). They sit in mostly comfortable silence, occasionally pointing things out in the paper and complaining about still being stuck in the office.

“Do you know what I miss?” 

“Your ex?” He hazarded a guess based on the earlier conversation.

“Yes obviously,” Hermione dismissed, “But someone to kiss. Someone to hold on to at night. Someone to cuddle. Just another person.”

“You’re drunk Granger.”

“Perhaps. I told you I tend to drink the muggle stuff mostly, firewhisky has never quite agreed with me,” she replied absently, “but even if I am drunk it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

“I miss having that person. That person that was always there. If you have a rubbish day and want a hug, if you are cold in bed there’s someone to cuddle up to, when you go to a party you have someone instantly on your team.”

She sighed, and Draco used all of his not insignificant self control to keep his mouth shut. Her brown eyes are glassy behind the alcohol and he knows that this isn’t really a conversation, more a monologue to get this off her chest. He looks down at her as she stares at the floor for a while, taking another gulp of the Firewhisky grimacing it down before she speaks.

“Maybe Ron was right. Maybe we are too different, maybe he really doesn’t love me like that anymore. Maybe I’m not enough. But he’s been there for me like that since I was seventeen. If I wanted a hug, comfort, or sex, I turned to Ron.” 

Draco wants to speak but doesn’t trust himself, instead he nudges her with his leg and she passes the bottle.

“Maybe I won’t get anything else. Maybe Ron was it for me. And I’ll have to listen to everyone tell me how great my life will be in the future while knowing right now I’m broken and he’s OK.” The sob catches up with her on the final word and the tears she has been putting off for so long stream down her cheeks.

Draco isn’t very good with drunk, crying witches, that tends to be Blaise’s realm, but he knows enough to know no one likes to cry alone.

He shuffled closer to her slightly and lifted his arm cautiously before moving it around her shoulders, when she leans into him he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Draco counted to 200 with his arm around Hermione before he took a deep breath, squeezed her shoulder tightly and said, “Pull yourself together Granger, no one likes a sissy.”

There’s a moment that lasts as long as a breath. It takes all the energy from the room and for a split-second he thinks he misjudged, he went too far. And then she laughs, a broken, watery laugh but it’s a laugh.

“You’re a prized prat, you know that?” She sniped between tears.

“So people say,” He drawled lazily, adopting the famed Malfoy casualness. With a leer he added, “but you should hear what else they say.” 

Hermione laughs. It’s still watery, still broken. But it’s more than it was before and that’s enough for him.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Blaise tried to shag his future step-dad,” Draco remarked casually.

Hermione spluttered, her cheeks turning pink even under the tear-tracks.

“Not Hugh?”

“No not Hugh, thankfully. This was one or two ago. I can’t really remember they tend to blend but this one was younger and rather vivacious if you know what I mean.”

“Do I even want to know?” She grimaced.

“Oh Granger. No one wants to know, but knowing the details of Blaise’s dalliances is a wizarding right of passage.”

“Dalliances,” she teased, “now who’s being polite.”

Draco remembers their conversation in Daunts and smiles despite himself, a lot has changed in a few months. His fingers tighten imperceptibly on her arm as he pulls her closer to him.

“Not me. So the story goes that Blaise was in a muggle club. Which is clearly the beginning of every horror story,”

Hermione’s watery laugh is a little stronger this time when it interrupts him. He glances over at her and see’s she’s still crying behind her laughter.

“If you don’t mind Granger, this is serious business. I believe it took two warlocks, an underage witch and a half-Veela to put the matter straight.” Draco told her importantly.

She sniffles. He jostles her slightly as he slides a little down the wall to get comfortable, his arm remaining fixed around her.

“So I believe the club was called Fabric. Don’t ask me why, Muggles are a law unto themselves,” he began.

“And then he said, but surely you know I’m going to be your dad.” Hermione is still in tears but this time it’s from laughter as Draco finished the story. She never knew he was such a good storyteller, though given his flair for drama it makes sense.

_“Attention, Attention. The protocol has now been lifted, please return to your business.”_

“That’s not ominous at all.” Draco grumbled.

“Oh Godric, I’m drunk. At work!” Hermione fretted, pulling away from Draco and trying to climb up from the floor.

He stands more elegantly than she does, and holds out a large hand to help her up. She wobbles slightly, the strong alcohol having more of an affect on her petite frame than it does on him.

“Stay here for a minute.” He told her before opening his office door and walking out.

He’s back in less than a minute or maybe longer she’s not entirely sure, she feels quite drunk.

“Here.” He hands her a small vial.

She frowned, “what is it?” 

“Relax Granger if I was going to poison you I’d put it in your drink not hand your the vial. As discussed, you Gryffindors lack subtlety.” He grumbled.

“I didn’t think it was poison,” She rolled her eyes, “I’ve just learnt to be wary.”

“Fair. This is a simple Sober Up.” 

Hermione opens the vial and sniffs it, getting the hints of regret that are hard to bottle but key for the potion.

“I nicked it from Marvin’s drawer. The kid likes to party and after a very unfortunate incident last Christmas when he rolled in still drunk forgetting I had a meeting with the Minister he tends to keep some Sober Up around now.”

Hermione laughed and downed the potion. Instantly she felt better the fogginess lifted. Unfortunately with it came the embarrassing awareness that she cried in his office about wanting to be hugged. Oh Merlin, and then he'd kind of hugged her.

She can feel the blush rising on her cheeks and awkwardly twists the now empty vial in her hands.

“Granger? You ok?” Draco asked putting a tentative hand on her shoulder making her jump.

“What? Yes, I’m fine. I should uhhh, I uhh should go and uhhh, find out what happened.” She muttered rushing out of the room, leaving a very perplexed Draco standing in the middle of his office staring after her.

*

The bottle of 24-year-old reserve Firewhisky kept catching Hermione’s eye like some unfortunate talisman. It had seemed a good idea at the time, a replacement for the one she’d drunk but now the bag is tucked under her desk for the third day in a row and the prospect of actually having to give it Malfoy it seems a bit much.

After scarpering out of his office at the end of last week she’d hidden away in her flat all weekend with only a catch up with Ginny to take her mind off things. Luckily, Ginny mostly wanted to talk about her post-Quidditch career and how she could avoid being a stay at home mother now the children were getting older, all things Hermione had been happy to discuss.

She’d been planning to ignore the whole incident all-together but on her way home had walked past Dionysus on the corner of Knockturn Alley and Dragon Alley and thought she should at least buy a replacement bottle for him. She hadn’t meant to leave considerable Gaellons lighter but Malfoy had good taste that much she knew and it felt like a token somehow. A sorry-I-cried-in-your-office token in one sense but also something more, a token of friendship maybe. 

It had seemed like a good idea until Monday morning when she was faced with the prospect of actually giving him the gift. Through a series of well-timed appointments and a genuine overload of paperwork – the release of a heard of baby Hippogriffs triggering last weeks Automatic Protocol had somehow ended up on her desk – she’d managed to avoid having to deal with the gift until now.

The memo had come by half an hour asking if she could pop by his office when she had a second. Now the moment of truth was upon her, take the gift or not.

Marvin waved her through into Draco’s office without really glancing at her at all. She almost admired his dedication to surliness.

“For Salazar’s sake!” She heard Draco curse as she entered the office.

“Bad time?”

“Oh no, come in. Just an annoying amendment on a very boring case that I’d hoped was over.” He sighed.

“Well maybe this will help,” Hermione said suddenly drawing on all her famed Gryffindor courage to feign nonchalance as she placed the light blue bag on his desk.

“What is this?” Draco arched one eyebrow.

“Traditionally the way to find out is to look.” 

“Funny.”

Draco opened the bag and pulled out the bottle, he whistled low, “Bloody hell Granger, what’s this for?”

“A replacement for the one I drank last week.”

“We drank,” he replied absently looking at the bottle. Hermione sat across from him and crossed her legs.

“Not that I will ever turn down a gift but this is much nicer than my office stash.” 

“Well, I know how much you love to accuse me of being uncouth, I wasn’t taking chances,” she teased.

“Apparently not.” 

He looked up with a light smirk and meets her eyes. Hermione looked away first.

“I wanted to say sorry and thank you,” she blurted out, carrying on before he can say anything, “It was incredibly unbecoming of me to get drunk and cry on you like that and you were kind, so thank you.”

“I know you think I’m what passes for the dregs of humanity,” he drawled.

“I do not think that!” Hermione snapped indignantly looking back up at him, she took in his teasing smirk and rolled her eyes, “oh.”

“But I’m actually a pretty good friend.” He finished.

“Are we friends?” Hermione asked tentatively, pushing a loose piece of hair behind her ears.

“I hate to say it Granger but I think we might be.” He quirked his mouth to the side, a small half-crooked smile playing on his features.

“Well who would’ve thought.”

“Not teenage me.” He shrugged looking almost vulnerable.

“Nor teenage me.” She echoed with a smile.

Draco smirked but doesn’t meet her eyes and Hermione can see that behind the facade he’s nervous, as if she’ll remember how cruel teenage him was and all the reasons teenage them had to hate one another and will throw his friendship back in his face.

“You know Malfoy, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” She grinned leaning back in her chair.

“Are you doing that thing again when you quote a muggle thing and assume I won’t know it.”

“Perhaps,” she smiled.

“Well jokes on you. Blaise made me watch Casablanca about ten times in a row because he was trying to woo some muggleborn witch who wasn’t interested in him but had slipped up and mentioned she loved the film.”

“And?”

“And she went out with him eventually then he dumped her because he was bored. Same old Blaise.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “I meant what did you think of the film but as always thank you for the unasked for update on Blaise’s romantic life.”

“Any time.” He smirked, “I liked the film.”

“It’s one of my favourites.” Hermione admits.

“I can see that. Strong sense of right and wrong, good guys versus bad guys and all that. A sacrifice for love. Ugh, I bet Potter is all over that,” he grumbled.

“I’m not sure Harry’s seen it. He doesn’t have much of an attention span.” Hermione admitted.

Draco gave a genuine burst of laughter, which Hermione couldn’t help but join in with. His smile faded as his eyes catch the pile of paperwork in front of him.

“As much as I enjoy slagging off Potter,” Hermione frowned but Draco ignored her an continued, “and while I am very grateful for this unnecessary gift, I actually asked you down here to talk about work. Have you seen the latest ruling from the Australian transport authorities?”

Hermione takes the parchment from Draco’s outstretched hand and starts to read. 

They talk work for a while before a memo from Venetia swoops in the room reminding Hermione of her upcoming meeting.

“I have to go,” Hermione said standing, “But I’ll dig out those files for you.”

“Thanks Granger.”

“About the other day,” she paused, “Uhh, thank you for being a friend I guess.” Hermione fights down the urge to blush and/or run out of his office.

“Merlin Granger, stop being so nice, I’ll rescind my offer of friendship.” He drawled.

“Fine. I look forward to you getting drunk and maudlin and I will tease you mercilessly about it forever.” She huffed.

“That is basically how I relate to all of my friends, so sounds about right to me.” He shrugged, a playful smile lighting up his grey eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.” She grumbled, heading out of the office a small smile lingering on her face.

She missed the slightly contemplative look that Draco gave her and the way he reverently places the bottle back in the gift bag and tucks it by his cloak to take home – it’s far too nice for office drinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "pull yourself together, no one likes a sissy," was paraphrased from Love, Actually.
> 
> Oh and my inspiration for Blaise's kitchen came from this [house](https://www.themodernhouse.com/sales-list/the-printing-house/)

**Author's Note:**

> In this world, Ron and Hermione have been together since the final battle but don’t have any children. Harry and Ginny are as they were in the epilogue. Draco is a bachelor. He never married Astoria (though she does feature but not as a love interest). Any other deviation from canon I'll point out as we go along.
> 
> While brevity may be the soul of wit, it is not a gift I'm blessed with. This chapter was originally double the length before I split it in half because I figured that people probably didn't want 10K+ chapters. But that means you'll have to wait for the next chapter for Draco's reaction to the Granger/Weasley split. Sorry!


End file.
